


The Detective Underneath

by SherlockChlo



Series: Young at Heart [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Or Is he?, Past Memories, Recovery, Straight John, Teenlock, Torture, Underage Smoking, Virgin Sherlock, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockChlo/pseuds/SherlockChlo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenlock AU</p><p>Sherlock and John meet in boarding school. With meddling brothers, and cases surrounding them, can something more than friendship occur?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Are Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John meet, and not in their usual Bart's Hospital way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me using a popular song as my chapter title. I only used it because I couldn't think of a title.

__

**Sherlock's P.O.V**  

Boarding School. How _pitiful_. How can anyone stand it? It's just a way for unloving parents to ship their children off, so that they can continue their lives in an easier fashion than if the child were actually living with them. My parents _obviously_ fit into that category, considering how early they packed me off to France- I was eight-years-old.

Extraordinary, isn't it?

One thing that my parents didn't consider though was my education in France abruptly ending when I was eleven because I had been expelled from every boarding school that was respectful for the Holmes name. Apparently I had been ' _disrespecting the boundaries that teachers hold when they decide to take on the distasteful work of teaching the young_ '… Whatever that meant. How was I supposed to know that Miss Green didn't want everyone knowing that she was having an affair with her boyfriend's sister? Anyhow, I soon found myself starting into boarding schools in England and pissing off that lot of teachers as well. Wasn't too hard.

“ _William Sherlock Scott Holmes_ get down here this _instant_!” I have heard this same sentence approximately one thousand three hundred and thirty two times in my entire life. It can be shouted up the garden, or into the attic, or even just outside my door. I know what it’s for this time; I’ve been excluded for some _comment_ that I made about some boy and his sister who are sleeping together.

I won’t go into any specific details about the abuse, but it’s always the same. My father gives me the belt, which I’ve trained myself to withstand the pain of. It's all rather _tedious_ if you ask me. They simply cannot do anything less _predictable_ with my time.

Any way. Today is the first day of my latest, in one long line of ten in England and five in France, boarding schools. How _dull_! I haven't left yet; Mycroft hasn't let me leave because he feels that he needs to give me _another_ talk on how to behave like a Holmes. I can hear his footsteps on the stairs so I start to fold my shirts. The purple one is my favourite.

Mycroft is standing at my door now, umbrella in hand and looking smug. “Good morning, Mycroft. May I ask why you are standing at my door at four in the morning? I know that I have to leave at six, but surely your ' _be good, dear brother_ ' speech won't last two hours…” I smile to myself and turn to face my older brother. “Wow, brother. You've put on three pounds in the last week. Diet not working out for you then?” I smirk and fold my arms across my chest.

“Just like you it seems, Sherlock.” Mycroft replies sarcastically. I must admit that I have lost a couple of pounds in the past few weeks. What can I say? I've been expelled from two schools in the past six months. “I really think you should start putting on weight; you are a growing man after all.” Now it is his turn to smirk at me as my arms fall to my sides and I raise my eyebrows.

“What _exactly_ is it that you want, Mycroft. I am getting ready for school, just as I’ve been ordered to do. I have _not_ packed my skull, just as I’ve been ordered to do. What more do you want me to do, your Majesty?” I throw my hands up in frustration.

“Whatever do you mean, little brother?”

“You. In the Government. The _Government_. I thought you of all people would be able to choose a creative job of some kind, Mycroft.”

“Oh, but, Sherlock. You do realise that when Mummy and Daddy find out about your little drugproblem, that _I'll_ be the one that has to settle everything with the police and our parents. Don't you think I will be a little useful to you in the position?” Mycroft has moved himself to my bed now and is inspecting the bottom of his umbrella. Why _does_ he carry that infernal thing around everywhere?

“I won't need your help, Mycroft, because mother and father will never find out. Please leave.” I say almost politely. When Mycroft doesn't move I raise my hand to point at the door and shout, “OUT!” I don't think I've ever seen my brother move so slowly, and _that_ is saying something.

With Mycroft out of the way, I’m free to go into my Mind Library for the remainder of my time in this house. _It’ll be good to get away from all this_ I think to myself, a thought I would never share with anyone.

~*~*~*~ 

“Sherlock!” I hear my brother call from the bottom of the stair case. “It's time to go to your new school.” I sigh deeply before shoving my skull into my case and closing it off before I change my mind. Mycroft will know, of course, but it is where I keep my needle just in case. It's the perfect hiding place, strangely enough. Bit too morbid for most people to even contemplate going near.

I walk down the stairs, dragging my case behind me, before grabbing my coat and scarf wrapping them both tightly around my body. Mycroft is probably right, though I'd never tell him, I do need to put a few pounds on. But food is such a time waster…

“Oh, brother dear, there is no need to look so excited. It is only _another_ school for you to get expelled from.” Mycroft can be such a dick sometimes.

“Sorry, I didn't realise that the scowl I was wearing meant that I was excited. I'll try harder next time to not look as excited.” I push past him and shove my case next to the car. I hear him chuckle behind me so I turn to face his smirk one last time. “ _What_?!”

“Oh, do stop being so childish, Sherlock. You're fifteen for goodness sake. Start acting like your age.”

“You're twenty-two, I don't see you acting any more grown up than I.”

“Are you not going to say a farewell to our parents?”

“No-pe.” I sigh slightly, bored with my brother’s stupid attitude. “Goodbye, Mycroft. Enjoy being boring.” And with that, I step into the car and slam the door behind me. This is going to be one long trip.

~*~*~*~

**John's P.O.V**

“Hey, Johnny boy. Have you heard the news?” I could hear Greg shout from behind me, his hair bouncing around on his head.

“Please, Greg. We've discussed this. You know that only my mum and sister can call me that.” I turn to face him and give him my best stance. He's still a bit taller than me. _Bastard._

“Well, it's not my fault I heard it when you invited me over, is it?” Greg always knows how to twist my anger, and today is no exception. At least I know he does it so that I'll play as aggressively as I can during the rugby match later on.

Other just take the piss because I'm shorter than them, or not as smart as them, or my hair isn’t blonde enough for their specific tastes. They are people that I like to categorise in the ' _Stupid Dicks of the Year_ ' category. Notice how I said people, not person.

“Whatever, _Gregory._ Anyway, what did you want to tell me?”

“Huh?”

“You said ' _have I heard the news_ '? No, I haven't. What news?” I see Greg's smirk replace his smile and I sigh deeply. “Don't tell me. That new kid is arriving today.” Greg nods and starts to laugh, almost silently. “How many schools has he been expelled from again?” Greg only laughs harder, which is getting extremely annoying now.

“Don't worry, John. I'm sure he's not _that_ bad. In fact, I've heard that he's a bit of a genius.” Greg places his hand on my shoulder, supposedly as a source of comfort. “But, most people out there calling him a freak. Shame really, he seems like a cool lad.”

“I think I'd like to decide that for myself if you don't mind. I haven't even met- What's his name?” I ask, getting slightly annoyed once again.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Right. I haven't met Sherlock, and neither have you by the sounds of it, so how can you just listen to others?”

“ _Jesus,_ John. I saw him getting beaten up, which was why I came to find you!” My eyes widen before I push past Greg and run the way we both came. “West Court, John. Go get 'em!” I hear Greg shout behind me, but I don't pay any attention.

I need to get to the new kid. And fast.

~*~*~*~ 

**Sherlock's P.O.V**

“Sir, we've arrived.” The driver announces, pulling me from my Mind Palace and back to reality. Ugh. I'm already dreading walking into that monstrosity. It looks positively _awful_. Time to go and make people move away from me, I think.

I step out of the car and walk forward until I'm leaning against a tree, all the while taking everything around me. Lots of people are staring… _Boring_. Closing my eyes for a moment, I take a deep breath and re-open them. A tallish boy, smaller than me by six or so inches, walks towards me with a girl on his arm. Obviously his girlfriend.

“Hey, new boy.” The boy shouts in my face. I can feel his spit on my nose so I wipe it off with my sleeve.

“Hello.” I say to the girl before announcing, “Did you know that your boyfriend is sleeping with that girl over there,” I point to a girl with tightly curled hair and look back at the boy, “I suggest that you break it off now to limit the pain.”

“What did you say?” The boy shouts at me. Once again spit flying onto my face.

“I wish that you would learn to control your issues with talking and spitting. Or rather _shouting_ and spitting. It is _very unhygienic_ and I would rather not catch your germs, thank you very much.” I wipe it off, before saying, “Anderson.”

The boy looks puzzle before grabbing me by the collar of my coat and slamming me against the tree as hard as he can. Which is not very hard if you ask me. “How do youknow my name,-er.”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes, Anderson.” I sigh slightly at how obviously stupid this boy is. “I noticed that the girl you're sleeping with was texting you as I walked past her. It was _obviously_ you because you smiled and looked straight at her when your phone buzzed. That's how I know your name, beside the fact that it’s on your bad and on your blazer collar. Anything else you'd like to kn- _ugh_ ” My nose starts to bleeding into my hand and scarf. I hold my nose briefly before ducking another punch and chuckling slightly as Anderson smashes his hand against the bark. I twist away and turn to face him.

“Stay put!” He shouts at me before taking another swing. He gets my jaw, but I quickly respond with a right hook to the stomach and elbow to the jaw.

In the distance, I notice a boy with silver hair running into the building before my vision is clouded with Anderson's fist once again. This time I allow him to straddle my arms to my sides as he takes the punches at my face. I block out most of it, but, if I've counted correctly, he has landed eight blows to my face. My nose is broken and I'll be badly bruised, but not as badly as I have been before.

There is a crowd around us now, obviously they’re enjoying the show.

I can vaguely hear someone shouting my name, before a pair of deep blue eyes appear before my own. They are _very_ beautiful. _No_.

“Sherlock. How many fingers am I holding up?” The blue eyed boy asks me holding three fingers in the air. _Does he think I’m stupid?_

“Three. Honestly. I've only got a broken nose, whoever you are, there's no need to lap 'round me like a lost puppy.” I reply before standing, wiping my nose on my scarf and looking around me. Everyone is staring, including the blue eyed boy. “What?” I almost scream and everyone starts to walk away swiftly.

“Sherlock, I think you need to get that seen to.” _That_ boy is speaking to me again. _Why won't he leave me alone? And how does he know my name?_

“How do you know my name?” I ask him as I look down to my knuckles. They're slightly bruised, but they'll be fine compared to my face. When I look up the boy is staring at me as though he's an animal that's been caught in a headlight. “Well?”

“S-sorry. I'm John Watson, hi. I'm your room mate- That’s how I know your name; I’ve been expecting you. My mate Lestrade told me what was going on down here, so I came to rescue you…” I continue to stare at the boy-John Watson. Not only are his eyes beautiful, but life has certainly not let him down on the rest of his body. He's muscular, got blonde hair and a face that lights up when he smiles; which he's doing right now.

“You, who happens to be one of the most popular rugby players in the school, ran here as fast as your short legs could take you-”

“Hey, I'm _not_ short!”

“-so that you could come and stop the new boy from being beaten up because he told Anderson's girlfriend that she was being cheated on. Why would you do that? You obviously have a reputation to keep. So tell me, why did you come to help _me_? You don't even know me.”

“How did you know that by the way?”

I sigh before replying, “It's simple, really. When I approached this tree I saw that Sally Donovan had just received a message that she was _clearly_ flattered by because she adjusted her bra, and her hair, slightly before looking over towards Anderson. When she was replying I saw the name Anderson with a love heart next to it, obviously meaning that she was romantically involved with him. That and the fact that they were wearing the same deodorant. I deodorant that’s made for men.” I look back at John and see that his mouth is hanging open completely and his eyes are as wide as they can go.

“You can tell me to piss off or whatever now if you wish. I'll happily have a room to myself.” I prepare John to shout something at me but when I look back up he's smiling at me. “What?”

“That was... _extraordinary_!” He compliments me before chuckling slightly.

“Really?”

“Yes, absolutely extraordinary.”

“That's not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off, you freak.” I smile slightly before we both burst into laughter. Maybe John Watson will be different...

~*~*~*~

**John's P.O.V**

When I get outside, I can clearly see where the fight is happening. There are a group of other students gathered around a tree shouting, “Fight! Fight!” so it's not that hard to guess where Sherlock is. I sprint over and push past other students.

“Get out of the way!” I shout before crouching beside the boy on the ground. His nose is bleeding and broken by the looks of it, and he'll have _lots_ of bruises tomorrow. Beside that he's _gorgeous_! _What, John? You're not gay!_ _Get your act together!_ His curls are raven, an almost ink colour against the crisp white of his skin, and he had prominent cheekbones that made him look almost girl like with his hair.

“Sherlock? Sherlock? _Sherlock?_ ” I say over and over again in an attempt to get his attention. His eyes open and I am greeted with some of the most dead looking eyes I've ever seen. “Sherlock. How many finger am I holding up?” I ask before holding up three fingers and wincing slightly. He looks empty.

“Three. Honestly. I've only got a broken nose, whoever you are, there's no need to lap 'round me like a lost puppy.” I blink a couple of times before lowering my hand and staring at his injuries a little closer. “What?” He almost screams at everyone, and successfully they all start to leave us alone.

“Sherlock, I think you need to get that seen to.” I can clearly see the pain he's in, though he's trying to hide it. He's doing pretty well, might I add.

“How do you know my name?” Sherlock asks me and looks down at his knuckles. I look at his hair a little closer and notice that he had hit head when he was shoved against the tree. “Well?”

“S-sorry. I'm John Watson, hi. I'm your room mate- That’s how I know your name; I’ve been expecting you. My mate Lestrade told me what was going on down here, so I came to rescue you…”I ramble to him because that's all I can do when I'm staring at his injuries.

“You, who happens to be one of the most popular rugby players in the school, ran here as fast as your short legs could take you-”

“Hey, I'm _not_ short!” I insist and hold my hands up.

“-so that you could come and stop the new boy from being beaten up because he told Anderson's girlfriend that she was being cheated on. Why would you do that? You obviously have a reputation to keep. So tell me, why did you come to help _me_? You don't even know me.”

“How did you know that by the way?” I ask.

“It's simple, really. When I approached this tree I saw that Sally Donovan had just received a message that she was _clearly_ flattered by because she adjusted her bra, and her hair, slightly before looking over towards Anderson. When she was replying I saw the name Anderson with a love heart next to it, obviously meaning that she was romantically involved with him. That and the fact that they were wearing the same deodorant. I deodorant that’s made for men.”

My mouth is open wide and I'm staring at Sherlock rather embarrassingly. He's smirking slightly, but it's hardly noticeable. “You can tell me to piss off or whatever now if you wish. I'll happily have a room to myself.” My mouth closes and I raise my eyebrows slightly. “What?” I smile.

“That was... _extraordinary_!” I exclaim to the boy and smile even more. Sherlock doesn't seem to believe me even though my words are whole-hearted.

“Really?”

“Yes, absolutely extraordinary.”

“That's not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off, you freak.” We both look at each other before we crack into a fit of laughter. Maybe Sherlock Holmes won't be as bad as everyone thinks he is. _Sherlock is even more gorgeous when he smiles... For God's sake, John!!_


	2. Arguing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have their first argument as dorm mates, but what could it be over?

Sherlock and John did eventually make their way to the medical room to get Sherlock's face sorted out. Sherlock’s nose was indeed broken, and _badly_ at that. Not badly in terms of the breakage. Badly in terms of how little damage Anderson actually managed to do to Sherlock's nose even when he was punching with all of his force. Sherlock was sure that he could break his own nose better if he punched himself. In fact he would do an experiment on the matter. John refusedto let Sherlock do that, evenif it happened to be an ' _experiment’._

John _insisted_ that Sherlock rest immediately when they got back to their dorm, but Sherlock refused and threatened to out John's questioning about himself to everyone if he argued. It turned out that John didn't like the idea very much, and agreed to let Sherlock stay awake.

“Er... Sherlock?” John stammered, staring at the newly placed object on the window sill. He literally could not believe his eyes; the object staring back with the same integrity. “How does it stare like that? It doesn't even have eyes _to_ stare with!?”

“Oh, do calm down, John. It's only a skull.” Sherlock didn't even turn around to talk to his dorm mate. Instead, he continued to unpack the three blazers, two of them _not_ for school uniform purposes, he had inside his suitcase and hanging them up in his wardrobe.

“A skull? Why, of everything a fifteen year old boy cold have, do you own a skull? It just stares at you. Do you not find that, I don't know, _creepy_ and unnerving?” John raised his eyebrows and continued to watch his dorm mate unpack the contents of his suitcase. “I mean, _porn magazines_ I'd understand. Seriously, I would. But a _skull_. Well, that's a different sto-”

“Are you going to continue to be plain and annoying, or do you wish to ask me some more _interesting_ questions that I might actually want to answer?” Sherlock interrupted, his voice dripping with so much sarcasm John actually thought that Sherlock's natural tone was sarcastic. When John turned to face the taller boy he found that Sherlock was staring at him intently. “You're a very easy person to read, John Watson.”

“Am I?”

“Indeed you are. Would you like me to tell you what I see?”

“I don't really have a choice in the matter, do I?” John sighed, his shoulders slumping forward as he waited for the truth that he knew all too well.

“Nope.” Sherlock replied before circling John as if he were his prey. His eyes grew darker and narrower. His hands steepled underneath his chin and he stopped right in front of John. “John Watson. Rugby player and involved in the group of people that are regularly referred to as ' _The Jocks_ '. Yes, I've met a lot of those people before; most of them wanting to see how long it would take me to cry out and beg. Until this day I have _never_ begged for mercy in my life. Back to you. You're currently dating a girl called Sarah in an attempt to prove to yourself, as well as all as your friends, that you are _not_ in fact gay. Of course you're not gay, John.”

“Really?” John's eyes snapped up to stare at Sherlock, they were full of surprise and happiness. Sherlock also saw relief in there somewhere. Relief that he was about to _shatter_.

“No. You're in fact bisexual. You find both men and women attractive, naturally. You've got a brother who is clearly worried about your state because he is in fact gay himself and would like you to come out first so that it is easier on him to reveal his true self.

“Your father is an alcoholic, and your brother is slowly following in his footsteps, and abuses all three of you. That's you, your mother and your brother. Why haven't your reported him John? Ah, you're too scared of what he'll do when he is released. Shame really. You'd be much happier and would probably stop punching that wall over _there_ when you hear your brother sobbing on the other end of the phone. It probably would help you if you went into the army, but of course you were already thinking about that.”

“ _That_ was _amazing_ , Sherlock. How did you guess all of that?” John said, utterly gob-smacked that Sherlock could have guessed all of that about his life.

“I _never_ guess about anything, John. I simply observed. You're obviously a rugby player because of your muscle to fat body ratio, your kit is on the floor over there- You really should was that, by the way- and your boots are by the door. You cleaned them this morning, in fact.

“You're small but strong and fast. You proved that earlier when you pushed all of those other students out of the way just in order to get to _me_. I know that you're popular because nobody made an attempt to stop you from helping me. Most people know who you are then.

“Now then, Sarah. Several times I've seen you text her. John, you should _really_ try and cover up your phone when you're sending Sarah _those_ kind of messages. I really _don't_ want to read them when I'm looking over your shoulder.”

“Don't read over my shoulder then.” John scolded, blushing furiously. Sherlock laughed slightly at the colour of John’s face.

“Shut up, John. I know you're bisexual because you clearly like women, as Sarah has proved, but men as well. I have seen you looking, for long enough for it to be an eye grope, at no less than three other boys on the way here. Don't even try to deny it!” Sherlock said, holding his hand in the air as John tried to protest. “Now your brother and father and their drinking.”

“Yes, how could you _possibly_ know about the drinking?”

“As I've said, I've seen your phone plenty of times now from when you've been texting _Sarah_. There are scratch marks all around the power socket of the phone, but you don't drink regularly. You may go out with friends sometimes and get pissed, but it is not a regular thing. So the phone isn't yours then. Or it wasn't originally. The engraving on the back says ' _Harry Watson_ ', so this must belong to another family member. Since your father is abusive because of the drinking issue he would not give you a phone. Probably even broke your last one. So this one belongs to your brother. The scratch marks indicate how much his hands shake when he's plugging the phone into charge. You never see a sober man's with them, and you never see and drunk's without them.

“As for him being gay, clearly Harry only gave this phone to you recently. I saw you deleting several links to gay porn sites on your history. You don't watch porn all that much-”

“Hey!”

“-And why would you be deleting them if you've been watching them so regularly? Therefore, you haven't. The way your eyebrows raised when I told you that he was gay indicated to me that you don't know. Waiting for you then so that he gets the softer treatment.

“I can see that your father is an alcoholic abuser because you have slight bruising around the throat from when you visited him during the half term holiday. The bruises are messier than they would be if he were sober, so he must have been drunk. It obviously isn't a rare event because as soon as I mentioned that I wanted to reveal everything I know about you your head and shoulders dropped. There.” Sherlock took a deep breath and turned away from John to hide the expression of pure _rejection_ that crossed his face.

“Wow. That is so _impressive,_ Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned back to John with a smile, “Did I miss anything?”

“No, you didn't miss anything, per say.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sherlock asked, rather harshly, folding his arms across his chest and string at John with his eyebrows raised.

“Harry is short for Harriet.” John replied with a smile before turning and giggling slightly. He pulled his shirt over his head, without thinking, and started to change for his first class. Sherlock noticed the bruises and scars scattered across John's back and chest. He really was in an _awful_ state.

“Harry is your sister... _Sister_! There's always _something_.” Sherlock hissed still staring at John and the damage across his body. John's voice brought him out of his trance. He hadn't realised he'd been staring.

“Sherlock? Are you going to stand there all day staring at what my dad has done in the past, or are you going to get changed for your first day? I mean I've heard that you've been expelled from _lots_ of other schools, but I was pretty sure you would at least give me a chance before you ran away and caused mischief.” John smiled slightly before pulling his tie tightly around his throat.

“Fifteen.”

“What?”

“I have been expelled from fifteen other boarding schools. Five schools around France until my parents could no longer find one that would fit their expectations. When those ran out I was immediately shipped back to England into the hands of my parents. That’s when the belting started…” Sherlock looked at John's creased brow and continued with his story. “I have since been to ten other boarding schools here in England in the past four years. Remarkable, isn't it?”

John shook his head. “No. Hold on. Go back. Your parents _belt_ you? How _dare_ you say that I don't have the balls to stand up to my father when you can clearly not even manage yourself properly. Sherlock, you can't just go around _accusing_ people that _they_ have problems. You clearly can't even handle your own parents, Sherlock Holmes. Go and sort yourself out before you accuse me of not being big enough!” John shouts before grabbing his coat and storming to the door.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock almost pleads to the other boy but remaining on his bed, not daring to move towards John.

“Out. I need some air, if that's alright with you!” John shouted towards the door before pulling it open and leaving the room with a slam.

Sherlock stood from his bed and moved towards the window. The only person he thought he might have been able to find _tolerable_ has already left him. And not even a day into them knowing each other. This was probably a record for Sherlock. When he saw John leaving to go and stand with Sarah outside, he picked the skull up from the window sill and started to talk to it.

“What did I do to deserve to get sent to somewhere like _here_? Why won't John come back and talk to me before he makes presumptions?”

_Sherlock. You do realise that you practically accused John of being a wimp around his father when he is being beaten, when you yourself cannot even stand up to your own parents._

“Oh, it's not the same.” Sherlock shouted throwing the skull against the wall. He knew that it wasn't normal to talk to objects that didn't and couldn't talk back to him. Currently, however, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to _care_ what other thought about him. Nor what he thought about himself. He only want to find out if John Watson would ever forgive him for what he said... And _then_ apologise for ' _getting the wrong end of the stick_ ' as they say.

Sherlock knew that John would be a tough cookie to crack now. He didn't know why, but John was different from everyone else. Yes, he reacted differently from them when he spilled John's whole life on a platter for him to chew and stab at, but he’s gone and left Sherlock alone on his first day.

_I need to do something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for reading. I don't know why I added Sherlock talking to the skull. But after series three I think that maybe Sherlock isn't actually as right as we like to think he is. John's voice inside his head-Talking to a skull. What's the difference? 
> 
> Please leave a comment. Criticism is welcome.


	3. "Mr Government Official..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets one man in a very nice black car. Let's just say, he's nothing less than creepy.

__

John was walking with Sarah through the school grounds, _desperately_ trying to think about the gorgeous girl next to him, holding her hand and talking about somefriend's horse, and _not_ about the equally gorgeous guy that was still sitting in their dorm after John had embarrassingly _'gone off on one_ '. When John stopped suddenly, Sarah didn't realise for a moment, so she continued to walk and talk with herself, not even bothering to look back. John didn't care until Sarah said something loud enough for the taunt to be unmistakeable.

“I'm sorry. _What_ did you just say?” John grimaced slightly, before walking beside her and turning her to face him. She wore a slight angry smirk and looked John up and down.

“It seems to me that you have something more important on your mind than your _girlfriend_. Could it be that new boy? So desperate for your affections, isn’t he?” John's eyes widened and he looked down to his shoes. After six months of owning them, they _suddenly_ seemed more interesting than everything around him. “I have to admit, John, you chose very well. I mean just look at him. His _cheekbones_ and that dark hair. I tell you what. He really fits the ' _tall, dark and handsome_ ' category, doesn't he?”

“S-Sarah.”

“No, John. You know _exactly_ where this is going and you will live it through. We're over, and I just want you to know that if you start dating the school freak then I don't think we can be-John.”

John looked up to meet Sarah's eyes. They were staring directly at a man standing against a black car. He held an umbrella in his hand and had a three-piece suit tugged firmly around his form. Even from the distance that was between them, John could see the smirk that lay underneath his eyes. “Who is that?” He asked Sarah in an almost whisper.

“I presume you know as he's been staring at you for the past five minutes by the looks of it. Maybe _all_ men find you attractive now that you've admitted that there's something more to your sexuality than you've let people believe. Goodbye, John. See you in class.” With that, Sarah walked briskly back into the school building and crossed her arms. John didn't see the death glare he received from her when his back was turned.

“I-I'm not... Never mind.” John turned to see the man had moved forward to stand no more than a couple of meters in front of John. He jumped back slightly causing the man to smirk even more. In John's opinion, he looked rather like the Cheshire Cat from ' _Alice in Wonderland_ '. Not that he would say that to the man, of course.

“Good morning, Mister Watson. Do come with me without making a fuss. It makes it so much easier on you.” The man walked back towards his black car, a _very_ nice car John thought, using his umbrella as though it was a walking stick. John slowly followed behind him, curiosity driving him to get into the car. How did this man known his name? “Please do stop dawdling, John, and get into the car.”

John complied and immediately asked, “I'm sorry but, who the _hell_ are you? And how do you know my name?”

“I know a _great_ deal more than just your name Mister Watson, believe me. What is your relationship with Sherlock Holmes?”

John blinked a couple of times before his mouth opened and he realised that the man looked rather… Aggravated?! He noticed that his mouth was opening and closing and that, right now, he probably looked like a fish out of water.

“ _Relationship_? What are you, the British Government or something? You certainly look and sound the part!” The man's smirk only grew wider, how could it even get that far? “I have no relationship with him. I've just met him, in fact. We have to share a dorm room, but that's it.”

“Yet you've allowed him to uncover your sexuality and family issues, even going to the extreme of being impressed. You even saved his neck in a fight that he was obviously losing, so tell me. How does your answer fit? I wouldn't call all of the above as having no relationship, Mister Watson. I'll repeat the question, shall I? What is your relationshipwith Sherlock Holmes?”

“As I've just said, Mister Government, I have no relationship with Sherlock. I saved him from Anderson because my mate Lestrade came to tell me that the new guy, who _I_ was supposed to be keeping safe, was _already_ being beaten up because of that _magic trick_ that he can do.”

“It's not a magic trick, Mister Watson. I assure you.”

“Wait a minute. Who _are_ you?”

“An interested party.”

“What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?”

The man straightened his tie. “It means that I want you to keep an eye on Sherlock Holmes and report back to me every move that he makes. I assure you that you will be paid well for your services.”

“No.” John shook his head once and stared back at the man with the same vicious look.

“But I haven't even mentioned a figure.”

“You don't have to. I will _not_ be some spy for you. In fact, if you're so _concerned_ for Sherlock's welfare then I'll tell you this. I'm going to be Sherlock Holmes' friend. Aww. Does that bother you, Mister Government? You can take whatever concern you have about Sherlock and stuff it up your arse, because to _me_ you're just one _creepy_ guy, sitting in his car and watching young boys hold hands with their girlfriend.”

“ _Ex_ -girlfriend, if I'm not mistaken, Mister Watson.” John's gaze didn't flinch until he felt his phone vibrate suddenly in his pocket, causing him to jump slightly. He _really_ hoped that ' _Mister Government_ ' didn't see his slight shake and mistake it fear. John held his phone out and read the text to himself, _**'Come at once, if convenient. -SH**_ **'**. _Bloody Sherlock Holmes_ John thought to himself.

“Am I interrupting something of great importance?” The man asked with his eyebrows raised.

“No. Do carry on with your explanation of why you're stalking my roommate.” John crossed his arms and felt his phone vibrate once more, taking a quick look at it. _**'If inconvenient, come any way. -SH'.**_

“I worry about him... _Constantly_.” The man admitted before looking John up and down. “It's a shame that of _all_ people you have decided to side with Sherlock Holmes. That could be a mistake, you know. I should know. Sherlock himself would call me his 'Arch-Enemy'.”

“I might be wrong, but I don't think it's any of your business to know what my relationship is with Sherlock. Constant concern or no concern.” John's phone vibrated once again and he read the latest message Sherlock had sent him. _**'Could be dangerous. -SH'**_.

“I really have to get going now, Mister Government Official, I bid you a good day and hope to _never_ see you again.” With that, John left the car, giving the door a good slam and walking back to the building rather quickly.

~*~*~*~ 

“Sherlock?” John called into the room as he entered and looked around to find Sherlock standing in front of a mirror so that his refection was blocked by his body. “ _Sherlock_?” John asked once more, slightly out of breath as he had run up the stairs, and walked forward to close the door behind him.

“This is hard.”

“What?”

“ _Really_ hard. Hardest thing I've ever had to do.” Sherlock spoke, looking down at his hands that were at his chest, by the look of things. “Do you know how to tie a tie?” Sherlock asked turning around to John and revealing the knot that Sherlock had made in his tie.

“ _What_?”

“I really do _hate_ repeating myself, John. That's another thing you should know about me. Can you, or can you not, do ties?” Sherlock threw his hands in the air and stared intensely at John. When John giggled, yes _giggled,_ Sherlock's eyebrows raised and his stare intensified. “What?”

“You. For the smartest person I know, you can be incredibly, well, naïve about some things.” Sherlock's eyebrows raised even further up his face. “Okay, there's no need to raise you eyebrows any further, Sherlock. You're not having a ' _how high can I get my eyebrows_ ' contest with anyone.” John giggled again and Sherlock's eyebrows decided to crease this time.

“John. Can you just do my tie and then show me to my lesson. I can't bear you any longer.”

“You're the one who told me to come here, Sherlock. I presumed that it would be dangerous considering that text you sent. Speaking of that, I just met a friend of yours.” John told his roommate as he attempted to get rid of the knot in Sherlock's tie.

“A _friend_?” Sherlock asked, completely bewildered by John's confession. Sherlock Holmes didn't have _friends_. And nor would he if he kept treading on the slowly cracking path that he'd decided to cross with John Watson.

“An enemy.” Sherlock's eyes looked less afraid now as he stared down at the smaller boy.

“ _Oh._ Which one?”

“Well, you're Arch-Enemy.” John told the raven haired boy as he finished tying and pushed the newly fixed tie into his roommate's collar. Sherlock's brows creased once more as he looked down at John.

“Did he offer you money to spy on me?” John nodded and looked concerned into the taller boy's eyes. “Did you take it?”

“No?”

“Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time.” Sherlock walked away from John and picked up his bag, it was heavy with pointless books. John remained where he was and frowned slightly in confusion. “Come along, John. I don't want to be late on my first day. Mycroft will skin me alive if I am.”

“W-wait. _Who_ is Mycroft?” John asked, grabbing his bag as Sherlock left the room. When he caught up, Sherlock still hadn't answered so he asked again. “Sherlock, who is Mycroft?”

“Oh, just my annoying brother.”


	4. I'm sorry that he was an idiot for not covering everything up properly!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's first Head meeting, and John finds him and learns some things about his new friend. Mr Government turns up and tells John too much about what Sherlock doesn't want him to know.

__

“And _what_ exactly did you say to Mister Roberts to make him send you to the Head on your first day, Sherlock?” John asked his new friend; completely astounded to find Sherlock sitting, and _smirking_ no less, outside the Head's office on his _first_ day. John himself had been on his way to pick his friend up from class in order to show him to the next, and that obviously involved passing the _'to-rags'_ of the school, as his mum liked to put it. He had started calling Sherlock his friend ever since that Government man kidnapped him and offered him money. Sherlock was _clearly_ a little different to himself and everyone else, but that wouldn't stop John from protecting him against anyone that came near him.

When Sherlock's smirk grew, John knew that he was in for a tale. In class, John had been contemplating what Sherlock's power was, exactly. He read John's life off of him without any knowledge of him beforehand. In all honesty, John was completely and utterly curious about Sherlock and what made him tick. He couldn't even get his tie together without John's assistance, yet he could spot the smallest thing on Anderson and say that he was sleeping with Sally Donovan from three metres away.

“What _ever_ could you mean, John?” Now Sherlock was smiling; he had realised that John now considered him a friend and he strangely accepted it easily. When John smiled back slightly, before recovering and replacing the smile with a frown.

“I mean, why are you sitting here outside the Head's office? I know Mister Roberts and he _never_ sends people out! So you must have done _something_ to upset him, Sherlock, and I want to know what that was!” John's voice had raised slightly, he himself know realised that Sherlock had probably shown off to everyone and upset several members of the class.

“What? I only told Mister Roberts that he should get some medication for his erectile dysfunction and that his fiancée trying to get his penis to fully erect by tying him to the bed, putting a ball gag in his mouth and hitting him with the riding crop would not work. Yet again, the medication _might_ have been mentioned there.” Sherlock now gave John a toothy grin, and before John could stop himself, he too was smiling with his friend.

“How do you know all that?” John asked, not particularly thinking about how _nasty_ Sherlock's actions were towards the teacher.

“Mister Roberts makes the stupid mistake of wearing his sleeves up on his shirt so that the bruising on his wrists was _amazingly obvious_ to nobody except me. But then again, I never miss a thing and normal people never really notice the obviousness of others. He also had a stiff jaw, which was clear by the way he couldn't talk for long, has slight marks from where the leather of the gaga had been on his face and the fact that he kept rubbing and shifting his jaw in an attempt to loosen it. It hurt him mostly when he opened his mouth fully, so something had been placed in his mouth for a long period of time.

“That and the fact that he wore a white shirt today, so I could clearly see the _vicious_ red welts through the white to identify it as a riding crop. I should know, I have one myself that I like to use for experiments sometimes-”

“Y-you _what_?!” John almost screamed looking a little bit more than scared.

“Oh, do keep up, John. I own a riding crop, what's so wrong about that? Anyway. On the way into class I looked over his shoulder to see him texting his fiancée about his ‘condition' before wiping his brow and adjusting his trousers. Either it was a dirty message, which I know it wasn't, I mean who would put ' _We need to get your dysfunction seen to in the downstairs area_ ' in a dirty message? Or it was about his little problem.

“I'm sorry that he was an idiot for not covering everything up properly! Graham Lestrade next to me just laughed and told me that he'd _never_ shouted at a student before. I was the first then.”

“T-that was _fantastic_! I mean, it was an awful thing to do, Sherlock, but utterly fantastic.” John smiled down at his friend and then continued, “Although, it isn't Graham. His name is Greg.”

“ _Greg_?”

“Yeah, Greg Lestrade. Two years my senior and finally not with too many _girls_ that he can _actually_ pay attention in class to get his A-Levels.” John chuckled to himself and then stopped suddenly. “I never asked. You look younger than the rest of us, how comes you're taking A-Levels?”

Sherlock smirked, “ _Just_ because I look younger, John, doesn't _necessarily_ mean that I _am_ younger than you.”

“ _Are_ you younger than I am?”

“Yes. I'm fifteen, yet I'm taking my second year of A-Level classes two years early.”

“So, you're a genius then?”

“Yep.”

“Right. How much longer do you think you're going to be because I _really_ need to get to-” John looked at the ceiling for a moment or two and bounced on the balls of his feet for a few seconds before forcing out a laugh and looking down at Sherlock again, “Biology. Most of my friends laugh, but I _really_ want to be a doctor when I'm out of school, so. Biology is one of the top subjects on the list.”

Sherlock studied John for a moment, resting on his lips for a few seconds before replacing the mask over his face and standing. “What do you know? We've got the same lesson, John. Let's get out of here before the Head realises that I was lying when I told her I felt ill.” Sherlock grabbed John by the wrist and practically dragged John away.

“S-Sherlock.”

“ _What_?”

“As much as I admire your enthusiasm, Biology is the _other_ way.” John replied with a smirk and a point in the direction that they had come. Sherlock gave a smile and followed his new friend down the corridor. When Sherlock had caught up, John asked the taller boy what he wanted to be when he was older. Sherlock gave a slight frown and looked down at the floor. John knew something was _seriously_ wrong when Sherlock started to scratch his arm, on his blazer, viciously with his nails. “Sherlock, do you- Do you self-harm?” John asked in an almost whisper. Sherlock's eyes widened and he stopped dead where he stood. The blonde boy looked back to find Sherlock's ' _death stare_ ' gaze upon him. “Well, do you?”

“A Pirate.” Sherlock stated simply, as though his brain had only just processed the question that John had asked him a minute or so before. John's eyebrows raised and creased simultaneously. “I want to be a Pirate, if that's okay with you, John Watson.”

“Of course it's alright with me, Sherlock. But that's not the question I want to know the answer to.” Sherlock shook his head and stared down at his shoes, just like John had done a couple of hours previously. “You don't self-harm?” Sherlock shook his head once more harshly.

“I haven't _ever_ hurt myself in that way, John. I have found other alternatives to cure my boredom as it has not got _that_ annoying that I have resulted to… Well, _that_.” Sherlock's mind immediately turned to the skull in their dorm and he turned slightly paler than before. John noticed this, of course, but decided against pressing his friend. They'd already fallen out once today and that was enough for John. “My mind usually uses something else to calm it down. Something that it needs more often than not.”

“And what would that be?” John pressed on now, getting rather angry. He never noticed how easy something could make him angry. It was starting to dawn upon him now, however. Sherlock sighed in reply before John heard another voice from up the corridor. He recognised it instantly.

“Sherlock, here, has a rather dangerous alternative to his every day tantrums, Mister Watson. He turns to the only thing he deems ' _acceptable_ ' to his problems.” John turned to find the same man from earlier, complete with umbrella, staring at both himself and Sherlock.

“Mister Government, do tell me, what would that be?” John's hands were now placed firmly on his hips.

“ _Don't_.” Sherlock growled from behind him, complete with a hiss and grit of the teeth.

“He enjoys the companionship of illegal substances such as cocaine.” The man told him.

“ _Him_? Have you met him?” John looked back at Sherlock to give him a small smile which was not received back and turned to look back at the man with the umbrella. “I bet you could search this place all day and you wouldn't be able to find _anything_ that you could call _recreational_.”

Sherlock stepped forward and turned John to face him, so that he could growl to him face to face and look into his eyes. “ _John._ ”

“What?” Sherlock stared down at him in an attempt to silence the boy. “No. You?”

“ _Shut up_!” The raven haired boy almost shouted before walking up to the man and attempting to stare him down. “What do you think you're doing offering him to pay money to spy on me?” Sherlock growled once more.

“Oh, dear Sherlock. Please grow up. You know how it upsets up mummy.”

“It isn't me that upsets her, Mycroft. They just choose to punish _me_ and not their ' _golden_ boy'. Well, our mother isn't here, is she, Mycroft?” Sherlock shouted back to the man and threw his arms around.

“Wait. Mummy?”

“ _Mother_.” Sherlock corrected before turning to John and waving a finger between Mycroft and himself, “ _Our_ mother.”

“You're Mycroft Holmes. But you said that you were his Arch-Enemy?”

“And when I said I was concerned I meant that I was _really_ concerned about my brother's well-fare. He has been expelled from _far_ too many schools in his fifteen years of life and I wanted to make sure that it didn't happen again.” Mycroft scowled at John and then looked back at his younger brother. John described the look as one of pure _loathing_. It was clear that they didn't get on, but _this_ was more than that.

“Well. I-I thought you were some kind of, I don't know, criminal mastermind.”

“Is that why you still continue to call me ' _Mister Government_ '?” John saw Sherlock smile at that, nearly missing it as Sherlock only looked back slightly. “My name is Mycroft Holmes. Not ' _My_ ', ' _Croft_ ' or _any_ other abbreviation. Are we clear, Mister Watson?” John nodded. “Very well. Goodbye, Mister Watson. Goodbye, dear brother.” Mycroft twirled his umbrella on his hand a few times before walking away from the boys.

John whispered to Sherlock, “Why can't I call him anything but Mycroft?”

Sherlock smirked and walked in the direction of biology. “Those were both names that I used to call him as a child. We used to be _great_ pals, until he left me alone to go to school. Now our relationship doesn't exist.” John hummed and walked beside his friend. “Shame for Mycroft really.”

“What? How, exactly?”

“He wouldn't be on the end of all my fat jokes if we were closer.” Both boys burst into laughter as they walked shoulder to shoulder. “Thank you, John.” His friend didn't ask what he was thankful for in the end. 


	5. Lots of girlfriends later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs a fix.  
> John is going out with another girl; Mary.  
> Greg and Mycroft start something new.
> 
> All in a day's work.

It had been one _long_ and extremely _tedious_ month at this new school for Sherlock, and it wasn't any better now than it was when he arrived here.

John had started asking him to join him with his friends, but Sherlock refused immediately without even opening his eyes to acknowledge the blonde boy. There was currently nothing in the media about any _interesting_ murders or crimes that Sherlock could be bother to move himself for. DI Lestrade of New Scotland Yard, Lestrade's dad, had refused to let him help with any of the cases that he had going on, even those that were old. 'Cold Cases' were not necessarily as stimulating as the current cases were for the Genius. Now he'd resulted to something that he always had. Something that calmed his mind as well as made it race.

Cocaine. Or heroine, if the need arose.

Sherlock, even though Mycroft had ruined his secret almost completely in front of his roommate, hadn't yet been caught by John when he was on a high. That probably _wasn't_ going to last. He'd already caught him smoking in the last week and he definitely _wasn't_ happy.

“ _Sherlock_?” John's voice rang through the room like a bullet aimed straight at a wall. “ _What_ are you doing?”

Sherlock smirked to the window before turning slightly to see John's stance. Laughing he turned back and replaced the cigarette to his lips and took a deep breath in order to push John to the edge. He couldn't care less if John didn't like that he smoked. If John was allowed to date lots of girls in an attempt to prove to everyone that what Sarah had said wasn’t actually true, then he was allowed to smoke.

“Hello to you too, John. I didn't expect you back until after your date with- _Whatever_ girl you're going out with today. I've lost track of all their names now.” John took a deep intake of breath, stormed forward to his friend and snatched the cigarette out of Sherlock's mouth. “ _Hey_!” Sherlock shouted and tried to grab it back from the smaller boy's hand.

“No, Sherlock. I thought Mycroft was joking about your habits. But maybe he wasn't! Where do you keep them?” Sherlock's raised his eyebrows and tried to stare John down. “No, no, no. We're not playing this game. Not this time.” John threw the cigarette out of the window and watched as Sherlock tried to grab it before almost falling out. “Serves you right.” John picked his jacket up from his bed and looked back at the raven haired boy. “I'm going out with Mary. I'll see you later, Sherlock.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, and Mycroft was looking for Greg earlier? Any idea why?” John asked, slipping the jacket onto himself and straightening his shirt that lay underneath. When he heard Sherlock chuckle he looked up to find another cigarette in the boy's mouth. _Great_. He sighed to himself and took a step forward. “ _So_ , why are they meeting?”

Sherlock turned and smirked, “I believe that my brother and your best friend have begun a relationship together.”

“ _What_!?” John spluttered taking a second to think about what Sherlock had just told him.

“Either that, or they're looking to start a relationship but neither of them have told the other how they feel. I'm surprised it's even allowed.”

“Sherlock, Greg is two years older than me, so he's as legal as any of the teachers in this place.”

“My brother is twenty-two and holds a minor position in the British Government. Let's see how they match.”

“ _You want_ _them_ to be together?”

“Yes.” John chuckled in disbelief before Sherlock continued, “It would provide me with blackmailing material for both of them. Mycroft to get off my back and take those bloody _cameras_ down,” Sherlock turned and gave the finger to a camera in the corner of the room, “and Lestrade so that his father will give me some of his cases from Scotland Yard's supplies. It's the best situation that could possibly happen... Well, for _me_ , anyway.”

John sighed, said his final goodbye and left the room for Sherlock to continue smoking on his own.

That was four days ago. In that time, Greg had sent a ' _Guess what happened to me last night, John!_ ' texts and John had sighed his way through every response. Turned out that Mycroft had kidnapped Greg and taken him to a _very_ fancy restaurant in order to ask him ' _to consider starting a relationship with him because he felt that it would be beneficial to them both_ '. Greg had asked for that in English and Mycroft had replied, “Greg, would you like to be in a relationship with me?” And then paid the bill, retreating quickly.

According to his friend, Greg had chased him out of the restaurant, grabbed him by the hand and placed a kiss firmly on Mycroft's lips. John had _no idea_ why _that_ was the part of the story that Greg decided John wanted to know the most... But he'd carried on listening any way.

In the end, John had fallen asleep listening to his friend's tale, dreaming sweet dreams of the raven haired boy that he shared his room with. And not for the first time. John had found himself, in the past week, wanting to spend more time with Sherlock but, instead, spending more time with girlfriends…

Sherlock, too, had been thinking about John a lot. He wouldn't admit it to John, but he was starting to think about more than John's subjects when it came to his Mind Palace. The way he looked when his hair was wet with a towel around his waist when he left the bathroom was a popular thought in his mind- Sherlock had more than once ‘accidentally’ walked into John on the way out in order to touch John's skin.

But, today was different. Sherlock had already seen John off to see that _Mary_ again and was now laying on his bed pushing the plunger down on the syringe that was deep under his skin. His belt was strapped tightly around his femur, hardly anything between the bone and skin, and his face contorted into an emotional bliss. He pulled the syringe back out of his arm, cleaned it off and returned it into the small box in his skull. John hadn't managed to find it yet, luckily.

The heroin fled through his veins, igniting the familiar feelings inside Sherlock that he kept to himself and causing his mind to rid itself of the pain. Heroin was a painkiller. To Sherlock, it got rid of everything that everyone said to him, deleting them from his mind without Sherlock himself needing to feel pain whilst doing that.

Sherlock was _always_ careful not to overdose... Well, _nearly_ always. He didn't want to die, especially now he found something that occupied his mind. _John_. Today was one of those day where he was, in fact, careful with the dosage. Whilst Sherlock was using heroin, he remained, _surprisingly_ , Sherlock like whilst he was high. So, when Greg Lestrade sent him a text, he wasn't too high to reply in a civilised manner.

' _Hey, Sherlock. I was wondering if John has told you the good news?_ '

' _If by news you mean the fact that you're dating my brother, then, yes, I have heard that_ fantastic _news, Lestrade. -SH_ '

' _Oh? And what do you think about it?_ '

' _I hope it doesn't make you feel uncomfortable!_ '

'Why _would_ I _feel uncomfortable about your sexual relations with my disgusting big brother? If you want to share your love with that_ thing, _then you're more than welcome to keep him to yourself. -SH_ '

' _Erm... Thanks? I guess._ '

' _Don't push it, Lestrade. -SH_ '

Sherlock put the phone back on the bedside table and shut his eyes. Hopefully John won't arrive back before Sherlock recovered from those texts... Oh. And his high. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I'll be able to update again because I have mocks starting this week, so... Bye.


	6. The End of the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl Powers, found dead beside the pool with a piece of paper tucked inside his mouth: 
> 
> 'Happy Valentine's Day, Sherlock.
> 
> xx' 
> 
> Who could it be from?

“Oh _GOD_!” Sherlock shouted at the top of his lungs, slamming down the end of the harpoon, that he had managed to acquire from his brother. Sherlock had returned to John covered, mostly on his face and down his chest, in blood. Apparently, it was pig's blood, but John wasn't sure whether he believed his friend or not. He knew how bored Sherlock was getting without any of the so called cases that Sherlock said he worked on in his free time.

“John, I need some. Get me some.” The genius demanded once again slamming the harpoons end against the floor. John was pretty sure that if Sherlock kept hitting the floor with the same strength, that he would make a hole in the floor. Sherlock would no doubt want to experiment on the effect...

“I really hope that you're asking for what I think you are, otherwise I can't help you. You're going to have to get a girlfriend or boyfriend on your own.” John looked up to the taller boy from where he was sat on his bed and creased his eyebrows. “I've never asked. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend? No. Not really my area.”

John looked down and chuckled before a thought crossed his mind and he looked back up. “ _Oh._ Do you have a boyfriend? Which is _fine_ by the way.”

“I know it's fine.” Sherlock was quick to snap back as he polished the end of the harpoon with... _John's jumper_?!

“So you _don't_ have a boyfriend?”

“ _No_.”

“Fine. You're unattached like me. Good.” Sherlock looked John up and down as the blonde boy went back to his homework as if nothing had happened. When John let out a sigh at the maths problem before him, Sherlock sighed after him. “What?” John asked, clearly confused as to why Sherlock was sighing at him.

“John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and though I'm flattered by your interest I'm looking for any kind of-”

“No. _No_. I wasn't- No. I was just saying, it's all good.” John blushed furiously, against his own prayers to his body to not let him change to a horrible red colour, and stared down at his hands that were now twisting together. Sherlock smirked, his plan working perfectly.

“Don't worry yourself, John. I was only testing you.” Sherlock crouched on his own bed and started rocking himself slightly. A slight smirk on his lips, but it was because he was bored more than anything.

“You were using me as an _experiment_? _Again_?!!” John shouted and closed his maths book, throwing it down on the floor beside his bed. “I thought that we agreed that you wouldn’tuse me as an experiment any more, Sherlock.”

“Well, I _need_ a case!” Sherlock shouted, throwing his hands around his head in a frustrated motion. His nose crinkling and his eyebrows creasing into the center of his forehead.

“You just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!” John shouted back, he too throwing his hands in the air to show how frustrated he was with Sherlock. He then stood up and walked to the mirror on their wall. Straightening his hair, John turned back to see Sherlock looking at him. “You keep staring at me, Sherlock. Are you okay?” Sherlock blinked a few times before he came back to himself.

“Y-yes, I'm great, John. Absolutely perfect, in fact. Oh look,” Sherlock announced looking at the message he had received on his phone, “Lestrade has sent me a text.”

“His name is _Greg_ , you could just call him that. What did _Greg_ say?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and reads his text. Smiling, he jumped from the bed and wrapped his coat and scarf around himself and ran out of the door, leaving John behind to stare at the empty space where Sherlock had been seconds before. When reality hit him, _finally_ , he sped from the room and followed after his friend.

~*~*~*~ 

“ _Sherlock_?”

“Oh, John, please do keep up because if you're going to drag along behind me for the whole case then there's really no point in you being here.” Sherlock shouted behind him as he continued to walk, too quickly for John's liking, towards where Greg was standing.

“Well, if you slowed down and actually waited for me, then you'd realise that I can't help you with whatever this case is, Sherlock. I have, well, prior arrangements made.” Sherlock looked John up and down with curiosity, watching as John squirmed under his gaze.

“What?”

“You do realise what day it is today, right?” Sherlock shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. They went into those pockets so deep that John started to believe Sherlock had a Tardis coat. Pockets that would never end and continue to grow. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It's Valentine's Day, Sherlock, and I have a date tonight.” He said, almost proudly in Sherlock's books.

“Yes, with me. We have to solve this murder, John.”

“No-”

“Sherlock!” Greg called to the taller boy and walked towards them both. “We have something that'll interest you. It's not under great circumstances considering it's one of our fellow students, but my dad has put me in charge. I know how good you are from my dad's report, so I thought you could solve this one for me?” Greg asked it as a question because he knew how stubborn the ' _great, but slightly annoying, Sherlock Holmes_ ' could be.

“It depends on what has happened, Lestrade.” He sighed slightly to himself, “Now. Can we get to the actual murder please? If you’re not careful, there might be another one…” Sherlock scowled, pushing past Lestrade and walking over to where the boy, lay dead on the floor.

“Carl Powers. Came here today to practice for his next swimming competition and then drowned in the pool. Nobody knows what happened, but they believe that he had some sort of fit.” Greg explained to John as Sherlock crouched down next to the boy, and examined him, maybe a little _too_ closely.

“Where are all of his belongings, Lestrade? I'll need to examine them.” Sherlock announced, jumping up and pointing to the body. “John, do you want to have a look?”

John's eyebrows raised when he looked at Greg for permission with a nod, and went to kneel by the body. “I don't know what you expect me to find, Sherlock. I am only a teenager, you know. I haven't gotten my degree in Medicine yet.” John turned to see the raven boy, that wasn't there anymore. He sighed to himself and looked inside the mouth of the deceased before him. What he found was not only surprising, but completely... _Odd_.

“So, these were the only belongings that the deceased had with him?” Greg nodded and looked down at everything before him. “Do you see what's missing, Lestrade?” Greg shook his head and looked up at the taller boy. Sherlock sighed and looked Greg up and down, studying everything on him. “How is your relationship going with my brother? Taken you to lots of 'expensive',” Sherlock made quotation marks with his fingers and continued, “restaurants to only turn you down when you wanted to go further than the quick peck with him?”

“Shut up, Sherlock. What's missing from Carl Powers' belongings that you see then?”

“Dear God, what's it like in your funny little brain? It must be so boring! Why can't you just see what's right in front of you, Lestrade. Even your dad is better than you. Look at the clothes that he has here. Where are his shoes? He has every piece of clothing here, _except_ for his shoes. Where. Are. _They_?” Sherlock growled to the older boy as he stared at him in disbelief. “Close your mouth, Lestrade. Looking like a goldfish isn't fitting for you.”

“There were no shoes here, Sherlock. And his roommate said that he'd worn his favourite pair down here. My dad doesn't want to treat this is murder yet, so I'll let you know what the autopsy shows when it's done.” Greg started to walk away when Sherlock grabbed him by the arm. “Sherlock?”

“Is that it? I'll let you know?”

“Yeah, sorry, Sherlock, but it's up to my dad what happened here because he's the Detective Inspector, so you can shut it!” Greg walked away from the taller boy and saw John talking to his dad, who had just arrived. “Hey, dad.” He called and his dad turned immediately.

“Greg. John was just showing me something that he found in Carl Powers' mouth. Here.” Greg was handed a small pink piece of paper that had clearly been folded before, but was now open so that Greg could read what was written inside:

' _Happy Valentine's Day, Sherlock._

 _Xx_ '

“W-who's this from?”

“Who knows. But it's for Sherlock. Do you think that I should tell him?” John asked, looking slightly apprehensive with the answer he would get.

“No. You know what he's like. He'll go investigating and come back with a broken limb... Or three.” John's eyebrows creased together as he listened to DI Lestrade's words carefully. So, Sherlock had done a lot of work with Greg's dad before then, considering he knew _exactly_ what type of person Sherlock happened to be. “John. If you think that Sherlock should know, then it's up to you to tell him. Thanks, you've been a big help today.” John shook the man's hand and then left to find Sherlock standing outside the pool's door, clearly bored as he had fallen asleep against the wall.

“Serves you right, you sod.” John muttered to himself and then slicked Sherlock on the cheek, might as well make use of the opportunity. “Oi, wake up, you daft idiot.” Sherlock shook himself awake and immediately went into attack mode. Arms flying around him like he was trying to do Kung-Pu.

Sherlock looked like an idiot.

John couldn't stop himself from laughing.

“Oh, hello. John. Erm... Sorry about that. I thought that Mycroft's men were coming here to kidnap me... _Again_. They _always_ do it when I'm sleeping. You wouldn't notice, why should you? They usually drug you before I’m taken.” Sherlock smiled slightly and blushed for a moment.

“Why are you blushing, Sherlock? You never, _ever_ blush. I'm getting scared.” John laughed to himself and noticed that Sherlock was staring at him intently. Was there something on his face? He didn't know, but he wiped it any way. He looked down at his hand to see if there was any dirt on his face; there wasn’t. When he looked up, he was directly in Sherlock’s face; they were suddenly closer than before.

“ _Jawn_.” Sherlock had never said his name like that, nor had he ever whispered it like there was no other word that could possibly matter to him at this point in time. Before John noticed, Sherlock had placed his hand on John's face, cupping his cheek and keeping John staring at him.

“Sherlock?” John whispered back letting out a deep breath that he didn't know he'd been holding, closing his eyes in the process. It felt nice.

Sherlock took John's closed eyes as an opportunity to run away. He did just that.

Sherlock kept running until he was safe inside his dorm and panting against the closed door. On the other side, he could hear John's approaching footsteps. Slightly louder than normal because he was running. _Coming to tell me that I’m freak, I suppose_. When he patted against the door, Sherlock took a few breaths before opening the door for him.

John made his way inside, not expecting the door to slam, and his back to be shoved into the hard wood. Once again, he was staring into the eyes of his friend and breathing heavier than before. Although, that was probably due to the running he had just made John do, Sherlock had completely lost any powers of deduction that he had before.

Sherlock moved his face closer, once again holding John's face in his hand. In turn, John moved his head closer, wanting the electricity that he felt inside him right now to be passed through to Sherlock. When the last of the distance was lost and the two pairs of lips pressed together firmly, a wave of utter adoration passed one set to the other.

After a moment, enough time for John to have pulled away from him, Sherlock opened his eyes and moved away slowly, having his first kiss pressing someone up against a door isn't what Sherlock thought he'd ever do.

 _Oh god_.

When John opened his eyes he found the raven-haired boy standing further away from him than before. His eyes were wide and his hand was tracing his lips. He'd just realised what he'd done...

“Sherlock?” John asked softly, raising a hand to touch his friend's face and stroking his cheekbone lightly. He wouldn't tell Sherlock just yet, but he _loved_ his cheekbones. It was one of his many features that John loved.

“J-John, I-I'm so sorry. I... I don't know what came over me...” Sherlock made an attempt to get past John and out of the door, but John held him by his shoulders and stopped him dead in the middle of his escape. He pulled the taller boy closer again; his lips were teasing Sherlock's now. When Sherlock started to return John's movements, the blonde boy let out a small moan and fisted his fingers deep into Sherlock's curls.

“See. You don't have to be sorry.” John mumbled against Sherlock's lips when they had both pulled away. He gave the taller boy one more chaste kiss and moved to allow Sherlock to leave if he wanted to- He wasn’t going to force him into anything, even if it was Sherlock who initiated everything.

“John, I think you should know that I've never done something like this before, and might need your assistance when we get to certain... _Areas_ of this new relationship.” Sherlock mumbled quickly and quietly, but John managed to get most of it.

“Hey. We don't have to do this if it's going to make you uncomfortable-”

“I told you.” Sherlock smirked, removing his coat from his shoulders and hanging it on the peg behind him, without breaking eye contact with his John.

“You told me what, _exactly_?” John replied, slightly confused with the change of topic.

“That you are bisexual. On the first day we met I told you that, and you didn't believe me.” Both boys looked at each other and giggled slightly. 

“Sorry, about that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half term!!! Woo. You don't know how tired I am right now. I've done three exams today back-to-back and I'm... *Falling asleep* 
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos. Criticism is welcome!


	7. Love Letters from a Psychopath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John share some very intimate moments with John's favourite singers. And they both finally meet Jim, Molly's boyfriend. But will they both be safe as the mysterious love letters keep arriving for Sherlock?

 

' _I hope you enjoyed my little present for you on Valentine's Day, Sherlock._

_It's John's birthday soon, is it not? What are you getting your little pet of a boyfriend?_

_Do you think I should send him something nice?_

_Shame I missed your birthday, I could have sent his dick to you in a box._

_Would you have liked that, Sherlock?_

_I'll see you very soon, my dear._

_Love JM_

_xx'_  

“Sherlock. This is the fourth letter this month. He's always started it the same. ' _I hope you enjoyed my little present for you on Valentine's Day, Sherlock_ '. If I'm not mistaken, I would think that you've got a seriouslypsychotic secret admirer following your every move.” John was pacing around the room, holding the letter _very_ tightly within his clenched fist, and breathing deeply in and out of his nose.

“Yes, John. Someone with the initials of JM. I don't know who it could be; which is an extremely rare thing for me to say.” When he heard John chuckle to himself, Sherlock added, “And if you mention I said that to anyone, I will find a perfectly _interesting_ way to kill you while you're still alive. And I promise you, it will be a _very slow_ and _painful_ end, John.”

“Oh, I love you, too.” John said quickly, slamming his hand over his mouth in realisation of the three _dangerous_ words that had left his mouth.

Sherlock and John had only been together a month, sharing quick snog sessions whenever they could, around corners or in previously locked closets; mostly when Sherlock was bored, John had to cure that boredom.

“Er-Sherlock. I am _so_ sorry! I didn't mean to-”

“I-I love you, too, John.”

“Say that... _What_?!” John stopped pacing and throwing his hands in the air around him, to see that Sherlock had moved from his thinking position on his back, to sitting with his head in his hands on the edge of the bed. “Sherlock, you know, I didn't mean to say that to you, so you don't need to feel the need to say it back to me.”

John let out a surprised gasp when he turned to find Sherlock standing above him, _extremely_ close to his face. “Woah. I need to put a bell on you or something.” John finished with a chuckle, to improve his own awareness than Sherlock's.

Sherlock stared John down, “Why do you all have to be so _stupid_ all of the time? I'm so much smarter than all of you _idiots_ and it is so _painful_ listening to you physically think!”

“Sherlock.” John tried, as Sherlock walked away from the blonde boy in a fit of rage.

“No, John. When I say something filled with _sentiment_ ,” Sherlock spat the word as though it was poison upon his tongue, “then you immediately assume that I'm messing around with your feelings as though I'm some _trixter_.”

“No, Sherlock, that's not what I meant.” John shouted back, with less volume than Sherlock arguably but with the same intensity as his boyfriend.

“And whatpray tell, did you mean _exactly_ , John?”

“That I know how difficult it is for you to grasp and express any kind of emotion to anyone, including me, and that I respect how you feel. I know that I love you, and I'm not afraid to express that to you even though it has only been a month, but I didn't think you'd want me to say it to you. In fact, I think I loved you before we were together.” John finished breathing deeply and restoring the oxygen that he lost during his speech.

Sherlock is quiet for a long time, considering he's Sherlock the master of talking, before he leans forward and kisses John like he never has before. It's much softer, much less demandingthan John has ever received from anyone ever, and it surprises him. They're chest to chest, feeling each other's heartbeat. John pulls him closer, closer... Even when there's nowhere for the taller boy to go. Neither of them know why they need to feel so desperately close and never wanting to let go.

Neither of them do.

When Sherlock starts to hum a song, that John can't quite remember the name of, they start to sway in each other's arms and turn around the room. “What song are you humming, Sherlock?” John asked, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. His boyfriend being taller was extremely _useful_ in these circumstances.

“Whichever song you want to hum, John.” Sherlock replied; always the man with the riddles in his words. John moved back and looked up at the taller boy with a smirk, shaking his head slightly. Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion.

“ _No_. Which song were you _just_ humming? I recognise it.”

Sherlock sighed, in embarrassment that he wouldn't show John, and looked into John's eyes, “It was ' _Teenage Dream_ '. I heard some girls listening to it the other day. Some guy called Darren Criss was singing it. I only remembered it because it was acoustic.” Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and pulled a remote out of his trouser pocket. Pressing the 'play' button, Darren Criss' voice started singing out the docking station next to the skull.

“Hey, Darren Criss _isn't_ just some guy, Sherlock. He has one of the most _amazing_ voices known to man. Chris Colfer and Darren Criss sing perfectly together. I mean it.” Sherlock had heard of both of those names when John talked about his ' _Guilty Pleasures_ ', 'Glee' being one of them, from time to time.

“Oh, but what about Adman Lambert, John? Surely you don't want to leave him out, do you?” Sherlock smirked, clicking the 'next' button a few times until ' _Marry The Night_ ' started to play from the speakers. John gasped and rolled his eyes slightly, but his eyes widened when Sherlock started to sing along with the song. 

“ _I'm gonna marry the dark,_

_Gonna make love to the stark,_

_I'm a soldier to my own emptiness_

_I am a winner._

 

_I'm gonna marry the night._

_I'm gonna marry the night._

_I'm gonna marry the night,_

_I'm not gonna cry any more,_

_I'm gonna marry the night,_

_Leave nothing on these streets to explore._

_M-m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry the night,_

_Oh, m-m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry the night.”_

“I didn't know you could sing, Sherlock. If I had known, you would have been singing to me a long time ago!” John laughed to himself, watching as the younger boy turned a delightful shade of pink. John danced a bit, using his finger sot coax Sherlock towards him. They danced together, pressed hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest.

Then John started to sing instead,

“ _Nothing's too cool, to take me from you. New York is not just a tan that you'll never lose. Love is the new denim or black Skeleton guns are wedding bells in the attic. Get Ginger ready, climb to El Camino front. Won't poke holes in the seats with my heels 'cause that's where we make looove._ ”

John twisted his hand around in the air as he continued to sing along with Adam Lambert, “ _Come on and ruuuunnn. Turn the car on and ruuun. Run!_ ”

There came a loud knock from the door which caused both Sherlock and John to jump. Sherlock went to get it for once, leaving John to dance around the room to the song he'd just switched it to. ' _It's Time_ ' blasted through the room as Sherlock slammed the door open and raised his eyebrows.

“Molly?” Sherlock asked as loud as he could so that she could hear him over the music. The small girl smiled up at him and blushed slightly. She'd been doing that _a lot_ recently, Sherlock had noticed. _Oh god. She has a crush on me..._ flashed through Sherlock's mind as a horrified expression spread across his face. Molly frowned.

“H-hey, Sherlock. Are you okay? You look a bit, well, in pain.”

“Oh, sorry.” Sherlock turned and shouted back into the room, “John, could you turn that _blasted_ music down a bit?” When the music quietened down, Sherlock whispered a small 'thank you' and turned back to the girl at his door. “What do you want, Molly?” He snapped.

“W-well. I'm allowed in the lab today, and I was wondering if you wanted to come and do some experiments in there with me today?” Molly had shut her eyes in order to concentrate on the words that she was trying to push out, instead of the boy standing in front of her, but when she opened them, he wasn't there anymore.

The music had been turned off and she could hear shuffling inside the room, the door still open to her. Poor Molly looked so confused when Sherlock came back, that when he passed her, he closed her mouth with his fingers. “Let's go!” She heard him shout, but not to her. To John.

As they walked to the lab, John turned to Molly, “Sorry about him. I think he's just a bit too excited about you allowing him to do his experiments. I've made a point about him _not_ doing them in our room, and _not_ doing them when I'm _sleeping_.” Sherlock ignored John's shouts and continued down the corridor.

When they arrived at the lab, Sherlock had already taken his coat and scarf off and was looking down a microscope. John sighed; he was going to be ignored for the next hour or so, then. He found a stool by a table and pulled out his phone, sending a text to Mike Stamford, one of his closest friends:

' _Sherlock is off on one of his experiments... Again. Text me would you_ _?_ '

**' _Sorry, mate_. _I'm on a date with Sarah. -Mike_ ' **

“Fantastic.” John muttered to himself, and placed his head in his hands. When a chime came from Sherlock's phone John looked up to find his boyfriend still down the microscope.

“John, pass me my phone.”

“Where is it?”

“Jacket.” John scowled and stood from where he was sat. Walking briskly around the bench to stand next to Sherlock, he reached inside Sherlock's jacket and grabbed for his phone. “ _Careful_.” Sherlock scolded, not once taking his eyes from what was under the microscope. John looked at the text that Sherlock had just received and rolled his eyes.

“It's your brother.” John told the taller boy and twisted the phone around in his hand.

“Delete it.”

“Delete it? He's texted you... Eight times, it must be something important.”

“Then why didn't he cancel his dentist appointment?” John hummed in question, so Sherlock lifted his head from the microscope to look at the blonde boy. “Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, I have better things to be occupying my time with than sending messages onto his boyfriend.” Sherlock ended his rant by snatching his phone from John's hand and shoving it back into his pocket.

The door opened and Molly walked back into the room. “Any luck?”

“Not quite yet, I can only find John's fingerprints on it.” Sherlock replied, looking at the girl instead of John. “Seems my _secret admirer_ doesn't want to be found after all.” He sighed and turned slightly when the door opened to look back to the microscope.

“Oh, Jim, hi.” Molly squeaked when a smallish boy, about John's height, with black hair walked into the room. To John he looked very shy as he smiled at Molly and asked silent permission to come in. Molly, of course, allowed it. “Jim, _this_ is Sherlock Holmes and- Sorry, I can't remember your name.” She addressed John now.

“John Watson, hi.” John clarified and folded his arms over his chest- Everyone knew who he was normally, so it was weird someone not knowing his name. And he couldn't help but feel that something was slightly off about this Jim character.

“So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?”

“Jim’s in all of my classes. That's how we met. Study partners and all that.” Jim moved to the other side of Sherlock and folded his hands together as if he were anxious. John thought that Jim looked extremely normal to be a guy for Molly. Of course he knew about Molly's love for Sherlock. How could anyone not see how infatuated she is with him.

Sherlock took one look at Jim and returned back to his microscope with one word, “Gay.”

“I'm sorry, what?” Molly asked, a slight hiss in her tone as she stared at the boy.

Sherlock turned once more and fake smiled at Jim, he was very good at that when he wanted to be. “Nothing. Hey.”

“Hey.” Jim replied and knocked a dish off of the bench with his arm, dropping immediately to pick it up and replace it on the side beside Sherlock, all the while saying, “Sorry.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed slightly, but only John noticed. John himself was pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing exactly what game Jim was playing.

“Well, I better be off. It was nice meeting you.” Jim said, once more rubbing his hands together. Sherlock had turned his attention back to the microscope.

John pointed to Sherlock with a reply of, “You too.” Molly and Jim whispered to each other about some plans before Jim left the room.

When she made sure that Jim was out of ear-shot, she turned to Sherlock, “What did you mean gay? He's not. Why do you have to spoil-He's not!” Molly protested to herself, Sherlock wasn't really listening to her.

“Of course he is. Did you see his hair? How much product does one guy need?”

“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair!” John said in an attempt to stop Sherlock from doing what he knew was coming. Unfortunately, when Sherlock was in one of his moods, there wasn’t anything that anyone could do.

“You wash your hair, there's a difference. No, there was that and those tired, blood shot eyes, and then there's his underwear.”

“His underwear?” Molly gasped and stared at the boy.

“Yes, visible above the waist. Very visible, and a very particular brand. That and the frankly obvious fact that he left me his number under this dish here. So I suggest you break it off now and spare yourself the pain.” _Oh god_ John thought to himself… Molly ran away from both boys, looking as though she was about to simultaneously cry and punch someone.

John was shaking his head when Sherlock looked back at him, “What? I was just saving her time, isn't that kinder?”

“No. No, Sherlock, _that_ was not kind. Go after her and apologise.” John scolded and pointed to the door. _How could Sherlock have been so cruel to someone who is so nice to him?_

“Why should I?” Sherlock asked innocently, with a slight pout on his lips.

“That girl is nothing but nice to you, Sherlock. And you’re just an arse.”

But Sherlock wasn't listening. He was staring at the wall in front of him and frowning slightly. “What?” John asked and looked too, spotting _another_ pink envelope and sighing. “Would you like me to get that for you?” He asked, completely bored tone and going out of his mind.

“Yes, please.” John had to blink a few times before smiling and retrieving the envelope. “Can you also read it out, please, John?” The blonde boy nodded and read the note quickly. He then proceeded to read it out loud.

' _Sherlock, my dear. I feel that it is time for us to meet._

_We have been avoiding each other for too long, love._

_Meet me, well you decide. Post a little message on that website of yours and I'll come calling._

_I'm waiting._

_Love, JM._

_Xx_ '

“What are you are you going to do, Sherlock?” John looked up to find that his boyfriend was gone along with his coat and scarf. John sighed and rolled his eyes, when he heard the door behind him open. He turned and his mouth opened to talk to Molly.

It wasn’t Molly.

“Hello, Johnny-boy.” An Irish accent sang out to him.

~*~*~*~ 

Sherlock ran back to his room as fast as he could; he wanted to know who was playing this game with him. When his laptop had loaded up, he typed in his website's address and posted a new message.

' _The Pool. Midnight. -SH'_

Sherlock closed his laptop and put his fingers to his lips. He noticed that he’d left John back in the lab, completely forgetting about him in his haste. _John will be back soon_ he thought. 

Little did Sherlock know that John wasn't coming back to the room any time soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my first cliffhanger ever, guys. Well. You all know what happens in the real thing, so prepare for it to change. Thank you all.


	8. "Jim Moriarty. Hi."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out who's been leaving all of those notes, but is it who he thinks it is?

The school's pool.

Currently, Sherlock was alone on the poolside, holding each of the letters that this JM had sent him over the past month.

Sherlock twirled slightly on the spot and said aloud to the empty room, “I've brought you all of your getting to know you letters. You've sent me a lot this past month, one would think that you're psychotic.” He paused and looked at the room before him and listened as footsteps approached slowly. “And at last, we'll finally meet.” Sherlock watched the pool as a door a few metres away from him opened and closed and a figure stepped into the room. When he looked to see who it was, he felt no less than betrayed.

“Evening. This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?” A small John Watson asked, hands inside the pockets of a green parker; a coat too big for his small frame.

“John? What the _hell_?” Sherlock was bewildered. Slowly, he started making his way towards his boyfriend.

“Bet you never saw this coming.” John slowly removed his hands from the pockets and opened up his coat to reveal something strapped to his chest. Sherlock recognised it immediately. “What. Would you like me, to make him say, next? Gottle O'Geer. Gottle O'Geer. Gottle O'Geer.”

“Stop it.” Sherlock snapped, as he moved ever closer, ignoring the sounds coming from the other side of the pool.

“Nice touch this. The pool, where little Carl died. I stopped him.” John swallows and tilts his head slightly at what he has to say. “I can stop John Watson, too. Stop his heart.”

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked to the emptiness of the room. He span around to see where anyone could hide, until the opening of a door sounded and he focused his attention on it.

“I gave you my number. I thought you might call.” A small figure stepped out from the shadows and Sherlock recognised him immediately. He didn't say anything though, he had nothing to say to him. “Is that a Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just please to see me?” The Irishman walked further towards John and Sherlock along the poolside, not once looking at the pair.

“Both.” Sherlock stated, pulling a gun from his pocket that John didn't even know Sherlock had. “Mycroft gave it to me.” Sherlock whispered to John, as though he had read John's mind, before turning his attention back to the other teenager in the room.

“Jim Moriarty. Hi.” The Irishman sang to both Sherlock and John. “Jim? Jim the boy that Molly Hooper just broke the heart of? Or was it the other way round?” Jim paused and walked further along, “Or maybe, it was you that broke her heart.” Sherlock's hold on the gun became tighter as he added his other hand to the hold.

“Oh, did I make such a _fleeting_ impression? _But_ , then, I suppose, that was rather the _point_.” Sherlock stared at the red dot that appeared on John's chest. He looked between Moriarty and John with his eyebrows raised. “Don't be silly, someone else is holding the rifle.” Moriarty moved even more until he was face-to-face with Sherlock. Or he would be, if he wasn't at the other side of the pool. “I don't like getting my hands dirty.” Moriarty clarified and turned to face Sherlock completely.

“I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad World. Sure, you've only seen little Carl, but you'll be seeing so much more. That DI down at Scotland Yard won't know what hit him.” Moriarty smirked. “I'm a specialist. Just like _you_.”

Moriarty threw a file in Sherlock's direction, which the young detective picked up and read. He was rather quick with his reading before he started to speak, “Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister. Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America. I guess I'll be solving those soon.”

“Just so.” Moriarty said in an English accent. He sounded too posh for John's liking.

“Consulting Criminal. Brilliant.”

“Isn't it?” Moriarty said with a smile. “And you, a Consulting Detective. Have you told John here about your future plans, or have you told him what you wanted to be when you were little. A _pirate_ , wasn't it?” He looked Sherlock up and down before returning his gaze to his eyes. John was looking at Sherlock for some reassurance, but he didn't get it. “Nobody ever gets to me. And no-one ever will.”

Sherlock takes the safety off of the gun and aims harder at Jim. “I did.”

“You've come the closest. Now you're in my _way_.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said blankly, still aiming the gun at Moriarty's forehead.

“I didn't mean it as a compliment.”

“Yes, you did.” Sherlock was quick to respond to Moriarty's every word. John couldn't help feeling that this was all planned, the way Sherlock could respond immediately.

“Yeah, okay, I did.” Moriarty replied with a shrug. The slight smile he had while saying it disappearing quickly into the neutral phase that he held before. “But the flirting is over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now.” Moriarty sang to the detective. His hands in his pockets, he swayed ever closer to the boys. “I've shown you what I can do. I've cut loose all those people. All those little problems that you haven't even been approached with.”

Sherlock looked to John to make sure he was alright.

“Even 30 million quid to make you come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning. My dear. _Back off_. Although, I have _loved_ this. This little game of _ours_.” Moriarty's voice changed as he continued to speak, his shoulders rising and his height falling, “Playin' Jim from high school.” Moriarty returned to normal. “Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?”

“People have died.”

“That's what people _DO_!” Moriarty shouted, his voice echoing around the room, staring right at the taller boy as he flinched slightly. It wasn't noticeable to John, but Moriarty noticed it clearly.

“I _will_ stop you.”

“No you won't.”

Sherlock ignored Moriarty and turned to his boyfriend, “Are you alright?” He asked him as loudly his voice could muster; he was nervous to say the least.

Moriarty walked forward so that he was standing next to John, close enough to almost hiss in his ear, “You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead. Tell your lover that you're alright for the last time before I put a bullet in your brain, or something like that.”

John gave a curt nod, staring straight into Sherlock's eyes in reply so Sherlock knew that John was telling him the truth, and then returned his gaze to the floor.

“Take them.” Sherlock snapped, handing Moriarty the pink envelopes back. Moriarty moved even closer and took the envelopes from him. Sherlock moved back slightly and replaced his hold on the gun; tighter than before.

“Oh, those. The letters that I spent so long writing to you.” Moriarty kissed the nearest one to him and replied, “ _Boring_! Why would I need those back?” He asked, throwing the envelopes into the pool.

John raced forward and wrapped his arms around the Criminal with a cry of, “Sherlock, run!”

“Oh, oh. _Good_.” Moriarty truly was psychotic with the way he said things. He lay his head back on John's shoulder for a moment and then looked back at Sherlock. “ _Very_ good.” Moriarty didn't even struggle, only looked through his eyebrows at Sherlock and smirked.

“Your sniper pulls the trigger, Mister Moriarty, and we both go up.” John sniffed loudly, clearly afraid yet brave in the action he was taking- Much like a soldier.

“Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But, then again, people do get so sentimental about their pets.” Moriarty turned to John slightly and mocked him, “And you're so touchingly loyal. _Whoops_.” He cried suddenly, causing John to let him go slightly before he regained his hold upon him. “You've rather shown your hand there, Johnny-boy.”

The red dot disappeared from John's chest, to be replaced by one on Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock sighed to himself, and looked at the ground, knowing exactly what had happened. He gave a slight shake of the head and looked back at John.

“Gotcha'.” Moriarty said, as John let go of him and retreated behind the man. He held his hands in the air in defeat and frowned slightly, replacing his hands to his side.

Moriarty straightened his suit out and brushed himself down before motioning at the suit with both hands, “Westwood.” The criminal said. “Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? Do you?”

“ _Oh_ , let me guess, I get _killed_.” Sherlock replied sarcastically as though it were the most obvious thing he’d ever said.

“Kill you? N-no, don't be _obvious_. I mean, I'm going to kill you any way, some day. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something _special_. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying; I will burn you.” Moriarty growled to the taller boy. “I will burn the _heart_ out of you!” He said with a shrug of the shoulders and a small mock frown.

“I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.” Sherlock replied, keeping his tone neutral and not once looking in John's direction. _He's very good at this_ was the next thing John thought, his heart beat picking up slightly.

“But we both know that's not quite true.” Moriarty turned to John and walked towards the blonde boy. John flinched slightly when Moriarty kissed his cheek and pulled his lip with his thumb and forefinger. _What the fuck is he doing?_

Sherlock blinked and twitched at Moriarty's response and took a deep intake of breath when John was kissed by the criminal. Moriarty turned back and smirked at the man. “See. What did I tell you?” He shrugged and looked towards the door John had come through. “Well,” He said suddenly, “I better be off! It was so nice to have a proper chat. You could always reply to my letters, Sherlock. I know how much you get off on them.”

“What if I was to shoot you now? _Right now_?” Sherlock queried shuffling himself slightly and aiming the gun harder at Moriarty's forehead, if he could any more.

“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face.” Moriarty pulled his best surprised face for a few seconds before it turned into a smile that only Sherlock could see. “'Cause, I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a teensy bit... _Disappointed_.” Sherlock stared back, his eyes narrowed at the other boy. “But, of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for long. Murder-Suicide. You know of those, don't you, Sherlock.” He stepped slightly closer.

“Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.” Moriarty sneered, walking away from the two boys and towards the door.

“Catch. You. _Later_.” 

“No you won't.” Moriarty sang back to them both before leaving the poolside completely and moving out the door.

Sherlock gave it a few seconds after they both heard the door close to look at the bomb on John's chest, and then into John's eyes. He put the gun down and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, kneeling down on one knee before John, helping him to get out of the coat.

“Are you alright?” No reply. “ _Are you alright_?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Sherlock moved behind John to pull the coat off of his arms. “I'm _fine_. Sherlock. _Sherlock_! Jesus.” John watched as Sherlock threw the coat as far away as he could from them along the floor. They were both breathing erratically and John found it hard to keep his balance. He steadied himself against a wall and slid down it, into a crouching position.

“Woah. _Christ_.” Sherlock ran out of the door that Moriarty left through and searched around for a moment before joining John again and walking beside him.

Sherlock rubbed the gun on his head before John asked, “Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, fine. I'm fine. _Fine_.” Sherlock almost whispers to himself, waving the gun around slightly before John's head, in a pointing motion. “That, er, _thing_ that you, er, did, that you, um, offered to do, that was... _Good_.” Sherlock cleared his throat several times during that sentence, making sure he used the right words for John.

“I'm glad no-one saw that.” Sherlock hummed in response and looked down at his boyfriend with a small smile. “ _You_ , ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool, people might talk.”

“People do little else.” Sherlock joked and smiled down at the blonde boy. They both chuckled together and Sherlock crouched before John and took his face between his hands, placing his lips to John's in haste. He'd almost lost him, and Jim Moriarty had _kissed_ him. To get rid of his mark, Sherlock showered John's face with kisses and then looked back into John's eyes. He saw the red dot that was placed neatly on John's forehead. Sherlock moved back slightly and John saw an identical one on Sherlock’s chest.

“Oh.” John cursed to himself and listened as another door opened to reveal Moriarty once more.

“I'm sorry, boys. I'm sooo changeable.” Moriarty snag out into the pool room, holding his hands out wide and walking into Sherlock's view. “It is a weakness with me. But, to be fair to myself, it is my _only_ weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just _can't_ I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.” Moriarty continued to sing, shaking his head at points and looking at the ceiling at others. 

Sherlock looked to John, silently asking permission for what he was about to do. John smiled at him slightly in reassurance and gave one curt nod. “Then perhaps my answer has crossed yours.” Sherlock said blankly, turning himself and pointing the gun back at Moriarty.

Slowly, Sherlock lowered the gun. His gaze remained on Moriarty until he showed the criminal where to look with his eyes. The gun stopped, poised on the bomb that Sherlock had thrown away minutes before. Moriarty's head moved in a reptilian way and he stared at the bomb, getting ready.

The Detective and the Criminal stared at each other.

This was the end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I know that it's basically the same as the program but it took me forever to write and I needed it in the story line. Leave a comment please.


	9. One skinless arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will save Sherlock and John from the bomb being shot? And what will the affect of that be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic torture scene... Poor John.

**There was nothing that John or Sherlock could do to stop the inevitable from happening... The bomb had to be shot by the gun that Sherlock held, slightly shakily if he had to admit it, in his hand.**

**“I'm sorry, boys. I'm sooo changeable. It is a weakness with me. But, to be fair to myself, it is my _only_ weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just _can't._ I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.” **

**“Then perhaps my answer has crossed yours.” The gun lowered further and further until its aim was upon the bomb on the floor. Sherlock's hand was shaking slightly, but this was not evident to John or Moriarty. The tension in the air was thick and breathable, but nobody moved.**

“ _Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive._

_Stayin' alive._

_Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' aliiiiivvvvvveee._ ”

Moriarty remained still for a few moments as he watched Sherlock look around to find out where the ringtone was coming from. As soon as Sherlock's gaze fixed on him, Moriarty's eyes rolled and he sighed to himself. “Do you mind if I get that?” He asked, Sherlock's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as he looked at the criminal.

“Oh, no, please. You've got the rest of your life.” Sherlock agreed, shifting the gun around in the air for a bit before pointing it back at Moriarty.

“Hello. Yes, of course it is. What do you want?” Before turning around to face the wall, Moriarty mouthed a small 'sorry'. He continued his eye roll as he turned around, listening to whoever was on the other side of the call. “Say that again!” The criminal shouted, causing John to jump slightly and look at his boyfriend. Sherlock didn't move. “Say that again, and know that if you're taunting me and trying to play some sort of game, that I _will_ find you and I will _skin_ you.” He hissed down the phone, making a skinning gesture with his hand.

Sherlock and John looked at each other, Sherlock looking almost sorrowful. He knew exactly what was coming now, and John could see that in his eyes.

John knew that he was about to be betrayed.

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Tiger.” Moriarty turned his head slightly so that he could whisper into the phone, “No. I won't be able to see you later if you want me to take your suggestion, dear. Okay? Good.” Moriarty frowned slightly and then looked at John with his head tilted to the side. “Come along with me, Johnny-boy.” He snarled and held out his hand with a smirk. John knew he had no choice, but he wouldn't go without a fight.

“One question. Give me one good reason why I should? You just strapped me to a bomb in order to lure my boyfriend out of his hiding place. Why? I don't understand why you went all that way when you could have just killed me. I'm going with you so that I can prote-”

“Yes, yes. That's all _very_ heart warming, John. But he just asked you to go with him, so if you would hurry along with that, then that would be good.” John hadn't expected Sherlock to say anything to him, especially not that.

“Okay,” John replied, walking slowly towards his boyfriend, “I'll see you when I see you, Sherlock. I can't promise it'll be any time soon.” When John moved to kiss Sherlock chastely on the lips, the raven haired boy moved briskly away as though John were a disease. “Sherlock?”

“John, I think it best if we were no longer together. I didn’t feel anything for you, anyway. It was all purely an experiment.” Sherlock hissed at John, locking eyes with the blonde boy so that he knew that the truth was being spoken to him. “Go along, John. Be a good little dog.” The detective continued to snarl at his friend.

John took a deep breath and straightened his stance, believing Sherlock for every word that was spoken. He walked slowly towards the criminal and stood behind him with his head lowered towards his chest. Hours ago, Sherlock had told him that he loved him, and now he was claiming that it was just an experiment. John decided that he wouldn't let Moriarty _or_ Sherlock see him cry. After all, it was only a weakness in their eyes.

“Good, Johnny-boy, wise decision.” Moriarty whispered to him as he walked past, before turning his attention back to Sherlock. He gave one quick nod before a shot was fired and Sherlock's body fell to the ground.

John span around faster than he'd ever moved to see Sherlock fall to the ground. It wasn't immediate, as he Sherlock remained motionless for a few moments before looking down to see that he'd been shot in the chest. Taking one last look at John, he fell to the ground and allowed himself time to feel the pain.

John could hear Moriarty laughing next to him, but it didn't register in his mind as he was too preoccupied with the boy on the floor. He ran and fell next to the other boy, holding his head in his hand and putting pressure down on the wound. Sherlock didn't register the tears that he felt trickling down his cheeks and onto his neck, just like John didn't register his tears that were falling onto Sherlock as well.

“I-I'm so sorry, S-Sherlock.” John whimpered to himself mostly, but also to the body beneath him. “I love you, and I don't care what you think, Sherlock Holmes.” John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead and wiped away the tears on his face. “Rest peacefully.” Sherlock looked up at John and smiled slightly.

“T-thank you. Goodbye, John.” Sherlock whispered as his eyelids started to close more frequently. John knew that the goodbye actually meant that Sherlock loved him too, he just didn't want Moriarty to hear him say it. The warmth that he was trying to hold on to through John was taken away from him abruptly when John had his hands tied behind his back, and was injected with something in his neck. “J-John?”

“Sorry, dear. It was so much fun talking to you. But I need to break John piece by piece. The first piece being you. Your death.” Moriarty's face appeared in Sherlock's line of sight. He was growing weaker by the second so it was harder to focus correctly onto the figure. “Your brother will probably find his body sooner or later, Sherlock, so don't worry about him. He'll be in _mostly_ one piece by the time I'm finished with him. Don't worry your pretty little head about him.”

Moriarty crouched next to Sherlock's head, giving him a small press of the lips against his temple, “Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.” He left Sherlock on the floor next to the pool and turned around to find John being held in one of his henchman's arms. “Let's go and teach this boy what real pain feels like.” Moriarty laughed to himself for a few moments before he walked ahead of the two other men.

“Sir, what should we do with Holmes?” The man, who was not carrying John, asked his boss. He received a sigh in reply and remained silent, refraining from asking the, clearly pissed off, boss any more questions. Sherlock was left in a puddle of his own blood, to bleed out on the floor. There were footsteps from the door behind him. His head turned slightly. _Ah_.

~*~*~*~

“Johnny-boy. I think you need to wake up now. I'll rip another nail off from your finger if you don't wake up.” John's eyes opened almost immediately to see Moriarty crouching in front of him. “You had some questions for me, which I didn't answer before pretty boy was shot. I can answer them now for you if you like.” Moriarty pouted and stood up.

“What do you want from me, Moriarty? You've already killed the person you kidnapped me for, so why do you still need me?” John checked the nails on his hands to find that they were all still there. _For now_.

“Oh, don't worry. Sherlock thinks I believed his trick back there. He'll be a very good criminal when I recruit him. Very good at making plans and fulfilling his objectives. He's a very good actor as well, you know. Had you _totally_ convinced that he loved you so that he could leave you here to die in his place.”

John looked up at the man and tested the ropes around his wrists and ankles. He was on a chair then. _If I only I was Sherlock Holmes. I could smart-arse myself out of here_ John thought to himself before he spoke to the criminal before him, “You do realise that your men shot him. He's dead.”

Moriarty tutted and moved over to a table in the corner of the room. From what John could see, there were several different types of knives and instruments of torture laid out in front of the criminal. Moriarty picked up a _very_ sharp looking knife, twirling it between his fingers. He giggled slightly and looked John up and down.

“I think that we should make you a little prettier, Johnny-boy. Pretty like Sherlock Holmes.” Moriarty announced to the teenager, walking towards him slowly and holding onto the knife tightly.

Once he was straddling John on the chair, not without John struggling to get him off, Moriarty took the knife to John's skin and made a small incision. John bit his lip in order to stop him from making any sounds of pain. _Come on, John._

“How about we rip the skin off of your arm. Keep still, or I'll do it all wrong.” Moriarty whispered to the blonde boy and started to slice the skin away from the muscle. John started to hiss in pain and move around on the chair to stop himself from screaming in pain properly. When Moriarty had enough to hold onto, he pulled the skin back all at once until the forearm of John's right hand arm no longer had skin protecting the muscle from his wrist to his elbow.

John screamed. He couldn't help it any more. He had to let it out. The chair rocked backwards and forwards on the floor as John tried to control the pain. Above him, he could feel Moriarty getting hard. He didn't know whether it was the pain that he enjoyed or the rocking of the chair. But the man above him had his eyes closed and was clearly in a pleasurable mood. For himself any way.

Moriarty moved himself from on top of John, clearly hard now through his trousers, and dropped the skin onto the table. John couldn't look at his arm because he was too busy trying to get rid of the evidence that was pushing through his own trousers. He willed it down, but nothing happened.

“Oh, my dear. Your arm is _far_ more attractive without any skin on- What's that I see?” Damn. Moriarty moved closer in a predatory style and looked down into John's eyes. The teenager looked back, biting his lip a little too harshly. “Don't worry. I'm not a paedophile. I have my own little pet or toy that I like to use.” Moriarty grabbed John by his chin and forced him to look him dead in the eye. “I hope you can last before _that_ gets infected, Johnny-boy, because you get me all excited.” He threw John's head away and strolled towards the door.

“What about my arm? It needs to be seen to!” John screamed at the man as he reached the door and took hold of the handle.

“As I said, dear, I'm going to let you wait out. I'll be back soon, don't you worry. Daddy's just got to take care of something.” Moriarty signaled to his crotch and gave John a wink, leaving the blonde to scream into an empty room.

_Help me!_

~*~*~*~

Sherlock's body lay frail and cold on the floor next to the pool. Nothing in the room moved except for the water and one figure behind the dead teenager.

“Are you quite finished, brother dear?” Sherlock's eyes opened and sat up from the floor. 

“Shut up, Mycroft.” Sherlock shouted to the man behind him and scowled. “We need to get back John back, _now_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Sorry about that. I'm very tired today. I had a sleepover and had five hours sleep. Tip: Don't go to bed at 7:30... in the morning. Not good. 
> 
> Sorry about the weird torture bit. 
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos. I'd love to know your opinions! :)


	10. Sherlock's demise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Sherlock find John in time, and will he be the John he... Loves?

John was in pain.

There was pain all the way through his body and he couldn't control his screams. Moriarty reveled in the screams and the hisses that happened every time a shock of electricity shot through John's body. He’d stuck a piece of wire into John’s arm and connected him to a box.

John hadn't had any more of his skin ripped from his body, thank god, and had only received a few well aimed punches to his chest and face. Not too bad, considering how the first night had started out.

Through everything, John hadn't cried once.

He'd remained strong for himself, as Sherlock obviously didn't want him to care about him.

But now he was being held by another body, one that seemed very familiar from one he once danced with. John didn't know how long it'd been since he had danced with Sherlock in their room. His mind wouldn’t function properly, anymore.

He could vaguely feel himself being freed from the restraints and a coat being draped over his shoulders to provide some warmth for him. John could hear the sounds of voices around him, none of them registered and sunk into his mind, however. But, he could hear Moriarty screaming at someone…

As the voices started to get louder, and he started to shake and breathe heavier than he should have been, John was led out of the room and into the fresh air. He didn't have the strength to cover up his eyes, so someone else did it for him. He couldn't even mumble a thank you in reply to the person.

He didn't want to.

John could see an ambulance in front of him and knew that he was being taken into it, someone was practically chanting his name at him. Trying to get his attention.

It wasn't working.

John allowed himself to be led, hearing but not listening to the baritone voice that tried to soothe him in his ear. The body was torn from him and, if he had to admit it to himself, he didn't mind in the _slightest_.

John, in his limited mental functions, decided that he was broken. He didn't want to listen to the paramedics that were talking sweet nothings to him, nor did he want to return to school to have pity thrown at him from every direction. Pity that hid every snide comment that people couldn't face telling him. After all, he was popular, and people didn't want to _spoil_ that for him.

Everything around him moved quickly compared to how he felt. In the distance he saw a small Irishman being taken away... Well, a rather taller boy in a suit managed to punch him, and break his nose, a few times before the police tore him away from him.

John couldn't care less.

Those people didn't mean _anything_ to him right now.

On the arm that still had skin on it, John barely noticed the small needle being pushed deep under his skin and taking some of his blood. He saw the read liquid and didn't react _at all_. Nothing would get him out of this trance like state. In fact, John thought he would actually try and laugh if anyone tried.

No, his mind was lost somewhere inside his head, and he didn't think he could find it.

Next to him, someone sat down and grabbed his hand. Literally _grabbed_ his hand, squeezing it almost tight enough for John to cry out in pain. _Almost_.

As the ambulance door shut, John noticed whose coat had been put around him to keep him warm...

 _Sherlock_.

~*~*~*~ 

**“ _Shut up, Mycroft.” Sherlock shouted to the man behind him and scowled at the man behind him, “We need to get John back,_ _now!”_**

Sherlock wanted John to come back to him.

 _His John_ _to come_ back to him.

Hauling himself up, Sherlock stared down at his, now, blood covered shirt. Ripping it open, he looked at the bag of blood that had perfectly been placed all over his chest and back, in case of any _unfortunate_ miscalculations on either of the Holmes brother's part. The extra protection underneath it the blood packs had obviously been enough to stop the bullet, but thin enough so Moriarty didn't notice that he was a lot fatter than he normally was.

The plan had worked perfectly for him.

His brother broke Sherlock out from his dramatic inner silence; “Sherlock. I hope that you remembered to tell John about your _little_ plan,” Sherlock's eye widened, slowly turning to Mycroft, he bit his bottom lip tightly between his teeth, “otherwise, I'm sure that John will think you dead.” Mycroft scrolled his eyes over his younger brother and laughed slightly to himself. “You _didn't_ tell him.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Sherlock dropped his head in response.

“I thought that I had told him-”

“Oh, Sherlock. You and I both know that you think conversations happen sometimes, when they actually that’s not the case.” Sherlock sighed and wiped his hand over his eyes. “Ah. You had a 'conversation' with John.” Mycroft smirked and walked towards the door, swinging his umbrella around his hand. “Come along, brother mine.”

Sherlock followed obediently. He _was_ going to find John, even if it _killed_ him.

~*~*~*~

Four days. _Four days._ How could it have been four days since the pool? Four days since Sherlock made the _stupid_ mistake of allowing his boyfriend to go with the madman. If Sherlock was honest, he felt that he deserved every ounce of guilt that he felt.

There had been clues left, of course. But they wouldn't let Sherlock near the case to help them out with the answers to each of the riddles they were presented with.

Today, however, was different. Sherlock hadn't slept a wink. He was currently staying with Mycroft, which was bad enough on its own, let alone with John gone and possibly dead.

Every day he searched through his Mind Palace for anything that could remind him of the smell of John. Tonight though, he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Sighing, Sherlock went to open the door. Sitting on the doorstep, and seemingly smirking at him, was a package with his name on it, waiting for him on the doorstep.

' _A little gift from me, to you._

_Love Jim._

_Xx'_

Sherlock grabbed and opened the package with intent velocity, ripping the cardboard and paper away from the object inside. _A DVD_. He found it hard to control his heart rate as he placed the DVD into Mycroft's tv and sat back on the sofa.

The video started playing.

Sherlock could clearly see John in the middle of the screen, tied to a chair, and naked apart from his underwear. His chin was on his chest, and his breathing regular.

He watched as Moriarty walked into frame and smiled. Sherlock _hated_ that smile.

“ _John... John..._ John!” Moriarty sang to the boy before he knelt down before him and tapped his finger onto John's hand. “ _Johnny-boy. I think you need to wake up now. I'll rip another nail off from your finger if you don't wake up._ ” When John's eyes snapped open, Sherlock finally let out a silent breath. John was alive then. Or _was_ when this was filmed. He saw John flinch when the blonde boy saw who was kneeling in front of him, everything flashed back to him in his eyes. “ _You had some questions for me, which I didn't answer before pretty boy was shot. I can answer them now for you if you like _.__ ”

As John was facing side on to the camera, Sherlock was able to see the pout that Moriarty made when he'd finished talking.

John was checking his hands to see if what Moriarty had said to him to wake up had, in fact, been true. He started to talk hoarsely, his throat obviously dry, “ _What do you want from me, Moriarty? You've already killed the person you kidnapped me for, so why do you still need me?_ ”

“ _Oh, don't worry._ _Sherlock thinks I believed his trick back there _. He'll be a very good criminal when I recruit him. Very good at making plans and fulfilling his objectives. He's a very good actor as well, you know. Had you__ totally _convinced that he loved you so that he could leave you here to die in his place._ ” Moriarty had now moved into a standing position in front of John, and that made Sherlock's clenched fists turn white. He was smiling slightly.

John looked up at the man, and Sherlock could see that he was testing the ropes that held him tightly to the chair. _Well done, John_ he thought to himself, silently. “ _You do realise that your men shot him. He's dead_.”

When Moriarty tutted and moved out of the camera's view, Sherlock pounced onto the floor next to the tv and turned the volume up. He needed to know what Moriarty was doing out of the frame, and he couldn't. John's eyes widening told Sherlock that something was about to happen to him. Something _painful_.

Moriarty giggled and walked forward, back into the view of the camera, twirling a knife in his hand. When he spoke, “ _I think that we should make you a little prettier, Johnny-boy._ _Pretty like Sherlock Holmes._ ” Sherlock was sure that he was about to break the tv with the hold that he had on it.

Moriarty walked forward and straddled John on the chair, his blonde friend doing everything he could, while tied to a chair so that he _couldn't_ move, in order to get the man off of his lap. Sherlock watched as Moriarty put the blade to John's skin and made an incision. John was biting his lip, to stop the sounds he so desperately wanted to come out, from coming out.

In that moment, Sherlock realised something.

John was being quiet for _him._

“ _How about we rip the skin off of your arm. Keep still, or I'll do it all wrong._ ” He heard Moriarty whisper, obviously loud enough for him to hear on the camera, in John's ear. Moriarty started to strip the skin away from the muscle on John's arm. The sound of John hissing filled the sound and Sherlock had to sit back on the floor and bite his knuckle.

When Moriarty decided that he had enough skin to hold onto, Sherlock screamed at the tv as the skin was pulled away from John's arm completely. Sherlock had looked down to stop himself from looking at John, but returned his gaze when he heard John screaming in pain. The chair was rocking backwards and forwards, causing Moriarty's eyes to close, and him to hum in pleasure. _Oh god_.

When the criminal removed himself from John's lap, leaving the teenager breathing heavily in order to control the pain, Sherlock could see the effect of John's rocking on Moriarty's body _very_ clearly through the man's trousers. _So was John_.

Sherlock sighed and let a single tear fall down his cheek. He allowed this one because it was for John.

“ _Oh, my dear. Your arm is_ far _more attractive without any skin on- What's that I see?_ ” Moriarty nodded towards John's crotch, and Sherlock sighed to himself. Now, all he could do was hope that Moriarty wouldn't rape John because of some friction when John was squirming.

“Oh. It was a normal, biological reaction.” Sherlock reassured himself, trying to remain calm, for John's sake.

Moriarty moved further towards John again, his eyes murderous. “ _Don't worry. I'm not a paedophile. I have my own little pet or toy that I like to use._ ” Sherlock let out a breath, and thanked anyone that was watching him now for not making him watch that. He saw John biting his lip and squinted slightly, there was blood being drawn. John's face was grabbed by the criminal, so that he was forced to look into those eyes before him. “ _I hope you can last before_ that _gets infected, Johnny-boy, because you get me all excited._ ” John's face was thrown and Moriarty made his way to the door.

“ _What about my arm? It needs to be seen to!_ ” John screamed at the man before he had a chance to leave. John, wanting to be a doctor when he was older, obviously already knew about the dangers of an infection to the body. He was very clever in that way, to Sherlock at least.

“ _As I said, dear, I'm going to let you wait out. I'll be back soon, don't you worry. Daddy's just got to take care of something._ ” Moriarty was out the frame, Sherlock couldn't see what signal he was giving to John. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be a good one. Sherlock sat and watched as John screamed and screamed into the room.

Sherlock, for the first time in his life, felt completely helpless.

For one thing, he couldn't understand why he'd been such an _idiot_ to let John go with Moriarty, straight after he'd been strapped to a bomb by the same man. What was he thinking?

_Oh god!_

After a few moments, another part of the video started to play. It was a view of the room that John was being held in. Sherlock could see pictures of John's family and all of his room's furniture. John had shown him a picture of it once.

“ _What's that?”_

“That _, Sherlock, is my bedroom at home.”_

“ _Why do you have a picture of it with you?”_

“ _Because, I'm not going to be able to go back there this weekend because my parents are away for two weeks. They leave... Erm. Oh, Friday. They leave Friday morning._ ”

That had been two days before John was taken. On a Wednesday...

A voice started to blare out of the speakers of the tv and Sherlock jumped slightly. “ _This, dear Sherlock, is John's room._ ”

John was at his house.

“Mycroft. It's me.

“Yes, I know.

“ _SHUT UP_!” Sherlock sighed down his mobile and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know where to find John, Mycroft. You know his address. Send a car to get me and go there. _Now_!” Sherlock shrugged his coat and scarf on, ready to leave immediately.

“I don't care, I want to find him. _Go_!” Sherlock pressed the 'end call' button and slammed the door open. The fresh wind hit his face like a bullet, but he didn't care.

The door was slammed, and a sleek black car was waiting outside. He climbed inside and wrapped himself tightly in his coat and slouched down in the chair. He needed to get to John's house... _Now_.

~*~*~*~

When Sherlock arrived at John's house, he recognised it immediately. John had shown him a picture of it once before, it looked nice. He smiled slightly at the memory, and then his face turned blank. In front of him, Sherlock saw both of the Lestrades and his brother standing, with at least ten other men in black-all of which were carrying guns-, standing outside the Watson family home.

Sherlock straightened his stance and walked towards them; he wanted to go in first.

“No, Sherlock. Absolutely not. You will not put yourself in danger for this boy!” Mycroft whispered harshly towards him on the other side of the door.

“I will do what I want, Mycroft.” Sherlock hissed back, just like a cat.

DI Lestrade gave a small signal with his hand, the men in black flying in through the door and searching every room. Greg was told to hold Sherlock outside, but he didn't succeed for long.

“Sherlock!” Greg shouted after him, standing and holding his head for a few moments before running in after the boy and chasing him up the stairs. “Dad!” He shouted, seeing John tied to a chair in the middle of the room, Moriarty standing over him and his hand raised high.

“Oh, hello boys.” Moriarty cooed, but didn’t move his hand away from the box- He twisted the dial once more. The boy in front of them not reacting in any way. Not even recognising the two teens that were standing in the doorway, or the man standing above him.

“He's in here, dad!” Greg shouted again and walked into the room.

“Greg?” DI Lestrade ran into the room and saw Moriarty smirking; he pulled his gun out and pointed it at the man’s head. Moriarty's hands raised in mock surrender and he laughed.

“Oh, Detective Inspector Lestrade, you are one soft guy, I must say. Look at poor Johnny-boy. Arresting me won't save time.” John's gaze was fixed directly on the ground, his eyes glazed over and completely out of focus. Sherlock could see that he wasn't here at the moment. His arm looked _dangerously_ infected, and Sherlock couldn't face to even look at it.

When Sherlock physically growled, Moriarty giggled to himself. “Maybe I was wrong, maybe you're the pet in the relationship!” Sherlock pounced on the criminal and attacked him onto the ground. He didn't manage to throw any punches at Moriarty because he was held back by both Lestrade and Mycroft.

“Get _off_!” The teen screamed, being pulled back and pushed onto the floor next to John. His friend didn't react when his face appeared in front of John's, his eyes searching for any signs of John in there. “John?”

No answer.

“Oooh, Sherlock. Did I break your little toy?”

“Get _him_ out of here!” Moriarty was dragged out of the room smirking, his eyes lit up.

Sherlock ran to the table and picked up a knife, his gloves still on his hands from when he'd put them on in the car, and started to cut John from the bindings. He was quick and made sure John was free before he took his coat off and put it around his shoulders. John still wasn't moving or speaking.

Half of the men came into the room and looked around for anything, some of them trying to help John. Sherlock physically growled and helped his friend stand, making sure that the arm was covered. _Oh John._

“Do you have an ambulance on the way because my boyfriend needs one?!” Sherlock shouted, leading John down the stairs and outside the house. Saying his name over and over, Sherlock tried to get John's attention but nothing worked. When John squinted, Sherlock placed his hand on John's forehead to protect his eyes from the sunlight. _Come on, John!_

When Sherlock saw the ambulance, he led John towards it soothing him as much as possible, “Come on, John. You're going to be okay now. It's alright, I've got you.

“I didn't mean what I said, John. I wasn't all an experiment. If you can hear me, _please_ , say something back to me.” He continued on and on until they made it to the ambulance and he was torn away from the teen and thrust backwards. _Mycroft._

John's arms clung tighter to the coat around him when the paramedics attempted to take it from his body. He didn't even know if John realised he was doing it. “Let him have it!” He shouted and _surprisingly_ , the paramedics complied. Simply pulling it off him slightly and accessing what they needed to.

Sherlock saw Moriarty being led to a car and ran for him. When he approached he yelled, “You bastard!” and threw a punch at Moriarty's face. The officers lost their grip on the criminal, not expecting the well-aimed punch, so he fell to the ground. Sherlock was able to straddle him and land a few blows before he dragged away.

“Look, son. We know you're angry but-”

“You don’t know the half of it!” Sherlock hissed back at the men and walked away, brushing himself down as he went. Mycroft was signaling his little brother over with his _stupid_ umbrella... _Again_. “What do you want, Mycroft?” Sherlock snarled as he walked towards him.

“I simply wish for you to know that you're allowed to go with your boyfriend in order to see that he is safe and well recovered. He _needs_ you there, Sherlock, as much as I hate to admit that. Someone in this World needs you to be there for them. Why don't you make the most of that and help him with his recovery?” Mycroft smirked and walked away from his little brother to join his boyfriend on the other side of the road.

Sherlock moved to the ambulance and sat down next to John. There was still no movement from the blonde boy, so Sherlock grabbed his hand, slightly too tightly now he thought about it. He wanted John to just move, tell him he loved him, smile... The hand was squeezed tighter.

John's head and eyes moved and his other hand clutched tighter to the coat. _Something_. It was something for Sherlock to hold onto; John would get better. 

 _He had to_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. I went to school today, 'cause I'm revising for my mocks again this half term... But, it's 2am and I have time to write this, so here is the next chapter. I'm sorry if it's too OOC for you.


	11. "I promise."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been three weeks since Moriarty was arrested, and Sherlock is still trying to get through to John.
> 
> Will he get a break through? Or not?

__

It had been three _scrutinising_ weeks of John sitting in the _same_ bed.

In the _same_ hospital.

With the _same_ lost expression on his face.

And the _same_ raven haired boy sat next to his bed.

Clutching the _same_ hand.

Everything was exactly the same as it had been three weeks ago. All except for the state of John's right arm. It was now bandaged correctly and he was on antibiotics to stop any of the infections that may have got into him through the open arm.

If John could have spoken, which he still refused to attempt to do, he would have told Sherlock that he was glad he was here with him.

He wouldn't have said thank you because Sherlock was the one that put him in that position. He didn’t even tell him that he had a plan…

God, John had been such an _idiot_ to think that someone like _Sherlock_ would be interested in someone like _him_.

John's ability to see everything around had been improving from what it was after he had left his house, as he started to watch Sherlock and his movements around his hospital room. He had started to hear Sherlock's words, mostly in French John noticed, and taking them in. Never replying to them. John watched as the nurses came in and assisted him to the bathroom, with much shouting and nagging from Sherlock next to him, or gave him food, which Sherlock _insisted_ on feeding him.

John let him do it.

Today was no different.

“Je voudrais que vous me répondre, John. Je suis très désolé pour ce que je vous ai dit ce jour-là à la piscine, parce que je ne savais pas ... _Intention_ pour cela de vous.” Sherlock sighed and took John's hand in his, edging him into talking back to him. “Je t'adore, John, et cela ne change pas.” Nothing.

“Oh dear. Trying French again are we, dear?” Today's nurse in question asked, walking into the room and looking over the boy before her.

“It's better than sitting back and doing nothing while John ignores me completely.” Sherlock hissed at the woman and then looked at her sober expression and frowned. “I believe the word you wish for me to say is 'sorry'?” The boy asked and the nurse nodded. “Sorry.” He turned back to John and placed a hand on the boy's cheek, “I just want him to get better and come back to me. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, love. It isn't too much to ask at all. I'm sure that if you persuade him that you love him enough, he'll come back to you, Sherlock.” The nurse smiled warmly at the boy and allowed the two of them some space to be together.

“J'espère que vous avez entendu, John. Je veux ses mots pour être vrai. _S'il vous plaît_ , ne perdez pas vous-même à ce sujet. Nous pouvons vous aider et vous serez passer à travers cela.” Sherlock placed a kiss on John's forehead and moved away from the bed. Standing in the doorway, he looked back into the room and whispered, “I _promise_.”

Three words were spoken out loud in response, and Sherlock didn’t hear them.

~*~*~*~ 

' _Mycroft, we need to get John some help. He's still unresponsive and completely unfocused on the World around him. He has continued to stare at the same piece of wall, in the time that he has been awake, for the past five days. Even I don't find a piece of wall_ that _interesting. -SH_ ' 14:02

' _Not to threat, little brother, John will be kept in safe hands until there is a time in which we can find him suitable help, or he becomes violent. -MH_ ' 14:03

'Violent?! _You will_ not _let him get to that stage, Mycroft. You'll have to take me down with him, if that is the case. -SH_ ' 14:03

' _I don't think mummy would allow me to do that, Sherlock. You know that. -MH_ ' 14:04

' _Did you know that your John replied to your little speech as you left the room? It took a long time for me to increase the volume on the CCTV and microphones to hear what he said, but there was definitely an improvement. -MH_ ' 14:06

' _What did he say? -SH_ ' 14:06

' _I don't think it'd be wise for me to tell you. -MH_ ' 14:08

' _Greg sends his regards. In fact, he's telling me to order you to keep telling John stories of your time together. Anything that will trigger his memories. How about that afternoon you danced and sang with him? I'm sure he'd like to hear that story_ very _much. -MH_ ' 14:08

' _Shut up, Mycroft. What. Did. He. Say? -SH_ ' 14:08

' _Try for him and maybe you'll hear it yourself. -MH_ ' 14:09

' _MYCROFT! -SH_ ' 14:09

Mycroft sighed into his hands before typing back a message to his brother, just before Sherlock entered John's room once again. He watched as Sherlock opened the message and ran straight to John's side, whispering sweet nothings into his hear and hurting himself even more.

' _”Sherlock, help me”. -MH_ ' 14:13

Sherlock's eyes widened as far as they could go, racing into the room and clutching John's hand once more. “Come on, John. Shall I sing to you? Play you some music on my violin? You don't even know I own a violin, but it helps you when you have nightmares at night, even before these three weeks in this hospital.”

When John blinks, Sherlock instantly has an idea that might help John to communicate with him. “John. If you can hear me I want you to blink twice.” Studying the blonde's face intently, Sherlock smiled and let out a small laugh when John blinked two times. “John, I'm going to ask you a few questions and if you're answer is 'yes' then I need you to blink once, if your answer is 'no' then I need you to blink twice. Do you understand?”

John blinked once; this was a good sign.

Sherlock smiled once more and then asked his friend, “Do you remember what happened to you?”

A blink. (Sherlock made sure that he gave John plenty of time to give the second defined blink in case he was just being slower than usual.)

“Good. Well, no, it's not good. But I'm glad that you remember why you're here. I've been _extremely_ worried about you, John.” Sherlock looked down to John's bandaged arm lying on the bed. “Do you remember what happened to your arm?”

A single blink. _This is going well._

“Do you know who did it to you?” Once again Sherlock received a single blink in response, causing him to smile at the boy. Not that John recognised that of course. At least he was looking at Sherlock for a change, and that meant something to Sherlock.

“Are you able to talk?”

For the first time, Sherlock received a set of blinks. John blinked twice to the detective and continued to stare at his friend. Still emotionless.

“Why? No. _Stupid_ question. Erm... If you could talk would you?”

Two blinks.

“Do you not want to talk?”

Two blinks once again. So John didn't want to talk to Sherlock. He really did _hate_ him for what he did.

John blinked twice, suddenly.

“No? No _what_? No you don't hate me?” There was no reply from John so Sherlock rephrased the question for the teen, “Do you hate me?”

Two blinks from John. Sherlock smiled again and looked down at the intertwined hands of them both. He hadn't been holding John's hand like that before... His hand had been clasping John's before, and now their fingers were weaved together to hold them tighter to each other. Sherlock _hadn't_ done that, he was sure of it.

“John, did you lace our fingers together?” Sherlock gasped slightly as John's eyes took in his face and then looked down at their hands. “Did you do that?” He asked once more.

John blinked... _Once_. Sherlock realised that John was coming back to him slowly.

“Do you think that you can write, John? I have to ask you some more complex questions, so I will need longer answers in order to make a definite decision.” Sherlock handed John a pen and a pad of paper.

Without even looking at the paper, John wrote out something, _surprisingly_ , in his own handwriting. “So you can write then? ' _Shut up!_ '? Really John? You're going to play _that_ game?”

John giggled slightly. He had been so desperate to laugh at Sherlock for the past ten minutes, but nothing would come out. This time, however, he succeeded and managed to giggle back at the other boy. Sherlock's mouth opened and he let out a silent gasp.

“Do you still love me, John?” Sherlock asked bravely, he knew that John was angry with him.

John remained looking into Sherlock's eyes; his only source of comfort right now, as he wrote down his response to Sherlock's question. There could have been no other answer from him. He let the pad be taken from him and remained in his own void some more.

“' _Yes. I'll probably_ never _forgive myself for saying it to you through paper, because I'm a coward, but,_ yes _, I love you._ '” Sherlock looked back at John and was met with a smile that he hadn't seen in, what felt like years but was in fact only, weeks.

“You don't have to move to talking quickly, John.” Sherlock sighed and chuckled slightly, gripping John's hand tighter once more.

“I think you should know, John, that I love you. It is _very_ hard for me to say something so sentimental to someone, but I have realised that I was an idiot letting you go with Moriarty. I was supposed to tell you my plan, and that I wasn't going to die because I was well protected. I am so unbelievably sorry, John, and I don't know how I'll ever show you how sorry I truly am.

“I hope that you forever remember these words, and this whole speech, as the longest speech Sherlock Holmes will ever make to you, or anyone, in order to get them to forgive me. I don't deserve you at all, John. Thank you for being with me and helping me to understand what makes someone human.”

Sherlock placed his lips upon John's and was rather surprised when the lips started to reciprocate his movements. This was the furthest Sherlock had managed to get John to go since the torture he had suffered all those weeks ago.

Sherlock was of course referring to John's torture, not his own. He wasn't _that_ heartless.

“I know, Sherlock. I forgive you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. The translations are below if you want them. Please leave a comment and say what you think. 
> 
> French no.1: I wish that you would answer me, John. I am very sorry for what I said to you that day at the pool, because I didn't realise... Intend for this to happen to you. I love you, John, and this doesn't change that.
> 
>  
> 
> French no.2: I hope you heard that, John. I want her words to be true. Please, don't lose yourself over this. We can get you help and you'll pull through this.


	12. Drugs, Fights and the Dead Boy on the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sits in hospital and thinks about something that Mike told him before he got with Sherlock. Something that was painful for him to hear, let alone comprehend.

__

Sherlock asked John many times for them to try again, his heart beating faster the whole time in anticipation. He hadn’t meant for John to get hurt in his plan; that was just the way things turned out in the end. Lying in the hospital bed, John would think about what Mike Stamford had told him when Sherlock joined. Turned out that Mike and Sherlock had met before at a previous school, because Sherlock was _always_ above his age group.

John had wanted to know more about his roommate as Sherlock refused to tell him anything.

“ _Has Sherlock always been this way?”_ John had asked his friend one day, a spur of the moment decision on his part, but he wanted to know why Sherlock was the way he was. If Mike had some sort of idea, then it would help John more than if he didn't ask.

“ _Worse. I've known Sherlock in some of his lowest moments, and let me tell you, they were the worst treatment of a child that I have_ ever _seen.”_

“ _What do you mean?”_

“ _We are all very impressed with how you've managed to calm Sherlock recently. It's definitely_ not _an easy feat.” Mike said, giving one of the most cheerful smirks John had ever seen. “What I meant by my statement was that Sherlock Holmes hasn’t always been as plump as he is now. He hasn’t always been as free from bruises as he is now.”_

“ _No.” John shook his head in denial, not believing it for a second._

“ _Have you experienced firsthand one of his massive mood swings? Those ones where he can go from jumping around the room in excitement, to punching the wall and shouting at anyone that gets in his way…”_

“ _Yeah, that's why I'm here now, actually. Do they happen often?”_

_Mike nodded, “Oh yeah. One minute he'll be on top of the World, all high and mighty, and the next he'll be picking fights with anyone that breathes too loudly for him. In that way, he's rather like a girl on her period.” Mike said it so casually that John started to believe that he didn't care. “As soon as I heard that you had to share with him, I felt bad for you, but good for him. He needs someone to take care of him, John. Him and his mood swings.”_

“ _People call him a freak all the time; _I just don't see what anyone has against him. He's not__ that _bad.” John insisted, feeling the desperate need to defend Sherlock in any way possible._

“ _Not all the time, no. If you catch Sherlock in the right mood then he can be decent company. He may even help you with some of your homework, not your choice of course. But most of the time he is a rude, manipulative arsehole who needs a filter on his mouth.” Mike sighed and looked at how concentrated John's expression was. “The sarcastic comments don't exactly help his case, John.”_

“ _Hmm.”_

“ _You can't deny you think the same.”_

_At this point John felt guilty for what they were discussing, he knew that Mike was right, in some aspects, but not all of them._

_Sherlock, on his part, made no effort to speak to those people who were not John, Mike, Greg, or sometimes even Molly Hooper. Everyone else around him, he either ignored or made insulting comments towards until they left him alone._

_Whenever the group of friends went out on the weekends, Sherlock would always deny the invitation and spend his day in the dorm. He was never in public places, John had noticed._

“ _You seem perfectly able to tolerate him when we hang out.”_

“ _Only in small doses. Sometimes Sherlock is the only person in the whole school that you can have an actual conversation with- A decent conversation. Catching him in a foul mood however,” Mike explained to his friend, trying to be delicate. “You need to make sure that you don't catch him in one, is what I'm saying. I used to live with him and, if you've got to live with him then... Well. He's pretty intense as a person. It can be too much, you know? I'm sure you've experienced some of his antics already, being his only friend and all._

“ _I remember when he first joined our dorm. He was a late starter,” Mike laughed drily at the memory and looked to the ground, “as most of us started three years before. I was fifteen, my birthday being in September, and he was thirteen. He was in our year though, which I immediately found odd. I didn't mind though. We were all too busy acting older than we were... Oh, the amount of fights there were in the first few weeks... Jeez.” Mike looked up at John now and smiled, “When he dropped the bombshell on me that he'd been expelled from seven schools at this point, five from when he was in France, I couldn't help but laugh. He made that funny face, you know the one when he's confused...” Both of the boys laughed together and smiled._

“ _Even after that, I don't think he knew how to be around people and deal with them, you know?”_

_John hummed in agreement and nodded slightly._

“ _Oh God, I remember the first fight he was in with one of the boys from our dorm. I think it was the second week in,” Mike shook his head and groaned, “a Saturday night as I remember. One of the boys, Sam I think it was, remembered seeing him on top of the school playing that_ damn _violin of his. Have you heard him play? It’s rather remarkable… But not at three o’clock in the morning._

_“But, apart from that, none of us had seen the bugger. We went to bed so we wouldn’t get into trouble; Sherlock always went off on his own and he always came back. Well, he usually would._

“ _Then, at about half one, I think it was, he came storming into the room; banging the door open and then letting it slam behind him, stomping down the entire length of the dorm to his bed and turning on the lamp that was on his desk, waking us all up. The stupid dick. I’m pretty sure I was the calmest person in the dorm though, at that point._

“ _Sam, who didn't look particularly friendly to the outside eye, was right opposite Sherlock's bed, so he told him to shut up. He was built like a brick and spoke in a rough Irish accent, you know how hoarse some of the boys here sound. He had a temper on him, that’s all I can say._

“ _Sherlock, of course, was having none of it, and told Sam to piss off. All of us were awake at this point, and very angry. I questioned Sherlock, but he said that it was none of business and that even if he did tell us, we wouldn't understand it. That didn't go down too well. Sam, he was one of those guys who did not take Sherlock’s crap at all, said something like,” Mike coughed and put on a hoarse Irish accent, “‘you saying we're stupid?' And Sherlock gave him that stupid glare that he gives most people._

“ _Sherlock simply replied with, 'Yes, but in more specific terms, Sam, I’m saying that you’re the most idiotic person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. Oh, and, just between the two of us, your voice will not get any lower than it is now, even with the use of drugs.' And, of course, Sam got out of his bed and strode over to Sherlock, so that he was standing two inches from his face and said, 'Do you want to repeat that for me?'_

“ _Sherlock just replied, 'I highly advise learning about puberty in the near future.' which was what set Sam over the edge of his cliff. We always used to call it that because it was very easy to push Sam off of the edge if you made him angry. You know how it is when someone has anger issues._

“ _I distinctly remember him shoving Sherlock in the chest and the poor kid stumbled back slightly. Everyone else, including myself, jumped out of bed and went to stop Sam before something really bad happened._

_“Sherlock, however, just sort of waited for Sam to attack him, which he took his time with, but Sherlock didn't back down. When Sam swung a well-aimed punch at his head, Sherlock dropped to the floor, kicked Sam in the crotch and that was the end of Sam; he fell onto the floor. It was a sudden and heavy fall at that, with Sherlock holding his ankles tightly so that he couldn't do anything to protect himself from hitting his head on the floor. He did just that, in fact. The rest of us rushed to try and pull the two of them away from each other. But before we could do anything, Sherlock was standing again and ready to go into battle once more.”_

John couldn't remember what Mike had told him in that moment. All he could remember was Mike looking more worried the more he spoke about the incident. The Sherlock that John knew no longer visible to his imagination from the description he was given. The last words Mike said about the situation were:

“ _It was all pretty scary, if I'm honest, John.”_

And John knew Mike; he rarely ever got scared by people.

“ _Have you ever seen him straighten out his jacket, like the complete ponce he is, when he gets it slightly dirty?” John nodded and continued to listen intently. “Well, when he managed to get out of Mark's arms, he did exactly that and left the room. We didn't see him again until the next morning; no idea where he'd been all night.”_

“Wow _. That sounds...” John couldn't even finish his sentence he was so astonished by Sherlock's actions. He thought that he’d seen Sherlock violent, but that was just a different story._

_But, trying to imagine what a thirteen-year-old Sherlock looked like, was rather hard for John._

“ _What?” Mike asked him, watching the confused look on John's face._

“ _To be honest, I'm trying to imagine what Sherlock would have looked like back then. Let alone the fighting skills he obviously had. Being thirteen and managing to take down a fifteen year old must have been pretty hard, especially for someone of Sherlock's weight.” John grinned._

“ _Oh, his hair was_ much _bigger for a start, you know, like,” Mike moved his hands around his head. “_ Poof _, like, more thick and curly. He was so skinny, the bugger, looking like a fucking stick insect while I looked like a muffin. I've lost a lot of weight, thank god. But, yeah, I think he's the best fighter in the school. Well, he would be if he tried.”_

“ _He still does look like a stick insect, Mike. What are you talking about?”_

“ _Even more so. He always looked so tired with think looking skin, and deep purple bags under his eyes. Mind you, he looked like that for the school year he was there, until someone intervened. He kept getting worse and more deathly and sick looking.” Mike shook his head slightly, “Poor kid.”_

Mike had continued to tell John about the fights that kept increasing. Sherlock's list of enemies increasing in numbers each day of Mike's recollection. When John heard about Sam's revenge plans, he paled considerably. In fact, he thought that he probably looked a lot like his roommate at that point.

“ _Mike. Earlier you said that Sherlock kept looking more and more ghostly until someone intervened. What did you mean? Surely someone can't look like a ghost if they're alive…”_

“ _Oh, yeah.” Mike said with a deep and heavy sigh. “I forgot that he wouldn't have told you about that_ little _incident, being Sherlock and all._

“ _Well, like I said, Sherlock was_ never _healthy looking, even when he first arrived. When we first met him, he was rather small, if you can believe that, for his age, looking like you could break him in two with a quick snap. As you've heard, though, he was surprisingly strong and amazingly fast. I guess he was like he is now, just taller._

“ _Any way, after Sherlock's first few weeks there, the fights were getting far too frequent for any of us to want to spend a long time in the dorm. They weren't always physical, mind you. Sherlock used to just have this hateful air around him. Wound up like a spring, always was. One day... Jesus Christ. You know how Sherlock is obsessed with science, well, for most of his time there he had been nicking equipment from classrooms, teachers, and students- Anything he could get his hands on to experiment on._

_“He made sure they were done well, I have to admit, once every couple of days we would come back and find Sherlock with his googles over his eyes and his shoulder hunched over the desk, a new spatula, or condom, or bottle of fluid on the desk next to him._

“ _We_ never _saw him take anything, mind you. Secret little spy, he was. I think that those kinds of things broke so much that none of the teachers took notice of the stuff going missing.”_

“ _Why didn't anyone tell someone? Surely everyone would have loved to dump Sherlock in it. Especially Sam.”_

“ _It's kind of like here, nobody told anyone about anyone else. If you see something, then you don't tell, whatever you do.” Mike said with a laugh. John looked confused, so Mike laughed some more. “I know. It doesn't seem logical, but if you really think about it, then it makes sense. What's the point in getting involved in other people's screw ups? It's not our business really, is it? If they want to fuck some other guy, then let them do it. It's there decision._

_“Sherlock wanted to steal things from people and experiment on them, so we let him._

“ _Besides, it will always come back to haunt you if you tell. Psychological torture is in store for you if you piss someone off. You’d be tortured! Why would you tell if you're going to be put through even more hell than before?_

“ _Sherlock by now had built himself his own little chemistry lab in the dorm, the same set of experiments being made over and over again. I tried asking Sherlock what he was doing, but he didn't give me an answer. 'Future reference' he used to say to us if we asked why he was doing it. The experiments took up most of the space in the fridge in the dorm, which was annoying. That's putting it lightly._

“ _Then, about a week before the half term holiday, everyone had reached the end of their wicks. Sherlock was, of course, refusing to comply with the requests that we had made for him to either stop the gross experiments or take them somewhere else. I didn't mind him doing his own stuff, just not things like that in our room, you know? He was being more rude and detached than usual, too._

“ _One night, at about midnight, Sherlock was still up, still fully dressed in the same outfit he wears now, and still messing about with his experiment. The noise he was making and the light that came from him, was too much for anyone else to sleep. Oliver, being the dick that he is, walked straight over to Sherlock's desk, raised his leg and kicked the whole table over. Test tubes, beakers, conical flasks; they flew right across the desk and onto the floor. I guess this was the first log to build onto the fire._

“ _I swear that you will never hear a silence like the one that the crash of that glass created. You could easily identify everyone’s emotions through the pattern of their breathing. The thing is, is that nobody was breathing. We all thought that Sherlock would go insane and punch Oliver's face in until there was brain all over the floor. He didn't. Everyone was confused when Sherlock stood and placed his hand on the back of Oliver’s neck. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed onto the floor. He was unconscious._

“ _Nobody moved for a_ long _time. Our breathing came back though, but the silence was still just as bad. We all watched as Sherlock moved down the dorm, staring straight back at us. He didn't look like I thought he would.”_

“ _What do you mean by that?”_

“ _Well, I thought that he would look like a kid who's just been caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. An animal in the headlights. A thief getting caught nicking the Crown Jewels. But he wasn't. He looked at each and every one of us in the eye as he passed our beds, his eyes completely empty, and then fled. He just vanished from the room completely. We didn't see him in our dorm again.”_

“ _Where did he go? Why didn't you follow him and try and stop him from leaving?”_

“ _Nobody knew until I found out a few days later. We didn't go after him because of what he'd just done to Oliver. We could have ended much,_ much _worse than Oliver had. And I was closer to Oliver than I was to Sherlock.”_

“ _I bet. So what happened? Surely Sherlock slept in the room?”_

“ _Yeah, he did. When we would wake up there would be slight changes. Like a new pair of shoes at the end of the bed, or the pillow at a different angle, slightly. Or his purple shirt recently returned from the wash. But we never saw him._

“ _Well, I say never. I, unlike the rest of the boys, saw him._

 _“I used to get_ really _bad nightmares, so I would wake up in the middle of the night. This one night, I saw Sherlock standing next to the window, his silhouette dark and misshaped. 'Cause I hadn't seen him there in a long time, I just watched him. It was strange. I kind of missed him, if I'm honest. He made things interesting, even if he wasn't particularly kind to us. I think he must have noticed that I was awake because when he turned, he placed his finger to his lips and shushed me. He went back to whatever he was doing, staring out of the window._

_“I let myself believe it was a dream, and went back to sleep. That happened a couple of times. He was either reading or playing the violin, I guess it was to help me with my ridiculous nightmares.”_

“ _Sherlock plays his violin now for me when I have nightmares. I don't think he knows that I know that he does something like that for me. He probably doesn’t even know that I know about his violin.” John chuckled and gestured for Mike to continue._

“ _We had absolutely no idea where Sherlock would go out of lessons, vanishing completely when the bell rang out. The problem with our theories was that Sherlock had no friends. So, where was he going and spending his time?_

“ _Over time, only over a couple of weeks, Sherlock's belongings started to go missing from the dorm. His science equipment was first to go, of course. He loved it like I loved my girlfriend at the time; uncontrollably. Then his school books. Then his violin. I decided that I would catch him in the act and see where he goes by staying awake until Sherlock came into the dorm. The last time he came in, I was awake and watching. He shuffled around his bed for a bit, like he couldn't decide what to do, and then there was a click -like glass on metal. Then he left. As soon as the door shut, I got out of bed, attempting to be as quiet as I could to follow him._

“ _I'm pretty sure that he heard me, he must have when I fell over my own foot, but he didn't acknowledge it- Maybe he wanted me to follow him. I followed as he climbed to the top of the house. I didn't think he could go any further when he stopped at an open window and climbed out. I rushed to find out where he'd gone, just to catch his leg moving onto the roof.”_

“ _You didn't follow him onto the roof, did you?”_

“ _What else was I supposed to do? I'd come this far so now I wanted to see where he was exactly. He was very quick in his movements because the conical flasks and the spatulas were already up there before him. When I followed him up, I saw this little room that I didn't even know existed. Sherlock did, obviously. Maybe he built it himself- It was made out of wood. It was low ceilinged and Sherlock was rather tall by then, so it was quite a sight watching him disappear. He looked fine to me, so I took it as my cue to leave._

“ _I checked for an entrance in the ceiling on the way back, but there wasn't one- Probably because he built himself._

_“From then on, Sherlock avoided everyone like the plague. If he did speak to us, he wasn't himself. He looked even worse by this point. One by one we stopped talking to him. Even me. And I regret that decision, even today. I'll probably never tell him that, but I am not proud of what I allowed him to do. My efforts to talk to him became half-hearted, though I did try to talk to him when I could._

“ _It's not like he was putting any effort in himself, mind you, you have to understand that. When he ate in the dining hall, well I say ate, you know, he sat alone on a table. Then he stopped going to PE lessons. Never speaking to anyone unless he wanted something, like a pen, or if you spoke to him first. You know Sherlock, even then it wasn't because the kid was shy. He didn't like us, nor did we like him. That's just the way life was._

“ _I did grow increasingly more worried because he was all alone up there, all the time, doing whatever he was doing, God knows what it was. After Christmas, Sherlock's stuff was returned to our dorm, but Sherlock wasn't. Even more worry was hitting me by now. He stayed up in his secret room, all day, every day, beside lesson time. He stopped going to meal times, I still have no idea what he ate to keep him alive._

“ _By March, Sherlock had gone weeks without speaking to anyone. He would stare at us, or his hands and that was it.”_

“ _What happened after that?”_

“ _Sherlock was in a really bad looking way! He was getting skinnier and paler with each passing day. Then came the days of unexplained absence. He wouldn't turn up for lessons, so I saw him less and less than I had before._

“ _I think it was a day in April when I woke up from another nightmare to hear the sound of Sherlock playing his violin. It wasn't in the room though, so I went to find him. He was on the roof, his back towards the window, playing, I think, the most beautiful piece of music I have ever heard him play. But, also the saddest. You wouldn't even believe it, John.” Mike sniffed slightly, John placed a reassuring hand onto his back._

“ _You know, I wasn't exaggerating about what I said earlier- that he looked more and more like the dead walking. Seriously, it looked like a corpse trying to convince you that it was alive. He didn't come down for days on end... His skin... God, there is no better way to describe it than when you drop water on paper... And the thinness of his body._

_“Each and very rib was visible, believe me I counted them, by the middle of May._

“ _A couple of weeks later, he looked like he was on the verge of collapse. His eyes were completely bloodshot, the bags underneath darker and heavier than I'd ever seen. It didn't even look he had eaten recently. Nobody cared, though. Nobody except myself and Molly. Sherlock would be missing for days and nobody would even mention it._

“ _To the two of us, Sherlock looked like he was dead. He was so death like and weak, he continued not to eat and still didn't turn up for lessons. Nobody cared. I told someone my concerns, I don't remember who exactly, but they said that I should let him get on with his own thing._

“ _I used to worry constantly enough that at night I wouldn't go to sleep until I had heard footsteps on the ceiling above the top floor of where the attic was. You never heard him playing his violin any more, you see. His family didn't care, because I'm sure that Sherlock didn't go home that half term. But nothing was said. Not one person gave a flying fuck about him. Molly was kind of... Well, in love with him, so she cared. She used to text me about him._

“ _Sherlock disappeared for five days. Longer than he had ever done before. I asked about, asking anyone I could find, but nobody gave a fuck. Not the teachers or other students. It was horrible to hear those responses... Jesus. I just couldn't get him out of my mind, so I decided to do something about it and find him.”_

“ _You found him, didn't you?”_

That's exactly when, as John remembered, everything in Mike's story went to shit. This is when John began to feel sick and his pity turned into something much, much worse... _Hatred._

_Mike nodded and continued, “I copied what Sherlock had done all those months ago, that June day and went onto the roof to see where Sherlock was. From the outside it looked perfectly secure. Inside though... All of the walls were falling apart from the wind that entered as I went in. The floor was so uneven I was afraid to go in, and nearly turned back, because there was so much rot everywhere._

“ _I saw all of Sherlock's stuff stacked into a corner next to a board that covered some of the room. There was a table with Sherlock's experiments on, which looked like they hadn't been touched in weeks. And you know what Sherlock is like with his experiments. They are_ never _left alone for that long. So I went in.”_

“ _What happened?”_

“ _I decided to check behind the board, after noticing another window frame peeking out from the top of it. Maybe Sherlock was on the other roof. What I found there, well...” Mike shut his eyes and swallowed harshly._

_“God, John. There were, erm, razors covered in thick amounts of blood, about eight of them I think, scattered on this thin mattress where Sherlock's pillow and duvet were. None of the blood was fresh, but crusted over and dark like dried blood goes. It was all over the floor and on these pieces of cloth and bandages. I don't think I've ever seen so much blood in one place._

“ _There was a small box on the floor that was open to reveal several syringes that hadn't been used, compared to those scattered in the corner. The amount of cigarettes buts was ridiculous as well, John. He doesn't have the same violin now as he had then, I've checked.”_

“ _Why? What happened to it?”_

“ _I stood on it, to find it snapped in half and draped across the floor with pins and nails holding the different parts. It was like he had dissected it. I never thought he'd do something like that. He loved his violin more than anything in the World.”_

“God no. _Not at all.”_

“ _It doesn't seem like something Sherlock would do, does it? His violin is one of the things he keeps most secret, but treasures the most. Yet, there it was, stuffed with needles and cigarettes and nailed to the floor. Through the window I had seen previously, there was a breeze coming through. Sherlock had to be out there. So, I stepped out and looked around for a bit. Sherlock wasn't making a sound, and there wasn't any movement._

“ _You know that moment when you see someone so dear to you that you when you see them completely broken on the floor and you can't do anything, so you run? I couldn't do that._

_“I was studying the sunset of that toady when my gaze fixed upon a hand that was poking out from behind one of those brick chimney things. Would you believe me if I told you that my heart stopped and I was no longer breathing?_

“ _And sure enough, there was Sherlock. Dead to the rest of the World.”_

“ _What did he look like...?” John asked wearily._

“ _Dead. Like he'd been stabbed or shot, or something like that. He was so pale that the grey of the day's sky had more colour than Sherlock did. It looked like all of the blood had been physically drained out of him, minus any sort of wound. I was too scared to go and get someone; he was only dressed in his pyjamas and that stupid silk dressing gown he has. Too thin. Bare foot on a roof? What an idiot!_

“ _Any way, I couldn't think. I swear, so many questions went through my mind in that moment that I felt as though one hundred people were talking to me all at once. My body reacted faster than my mind in all of this, of course, as my fingers were on his neck, checking for that pulse...”_

“ _He had one.”_

_Mike nodded and a single tear fell from his eye. “I think I was doing exactly what I'm doing now and cried when the pulse I felt battered against my fingers. I mean, it was like the faintest of pulses, but at least it was there, you know. I guess panic kind of took over from there, really. I looked at all of the cuts on his body, removing his dressing gown from him and draping it over his body, and the marks on his arms where he'd injected himself with drugs. I think he told me it was cocaine when I asked him about it a couple of weeks before.”_

“ _What happened after that?”_

“ _I don't remember. Next thing I knew, I was holding Sherlock in my arms, bridal style, walking_ very _quickly to the car park. They told me not to, but I did any way. I must have called Molly or someone to get an ambulance or something. It was probably the worst day of my life so far, if I'm honest to myself. We drove him towards that...”_

“ _No, you didn't, Mike.” John attempted to comfort, it didn't work._

“I never did find out what happened to Sherlock after that...” John mumbled to himself, and fell into a nightmare. One where he was the one who found Sherlock, alone and dead on the floor. He tried again and again for a pulse, but there wasn't one. Sherlock died long before John had even got there. The guilt tore out his heart and brought Sherlock back to life; leaving John alone in the World. He couldn't imagine Sherlock's pain.

John woke up screaming into a room where Sherlock sat alone on a chair. His eyes vacant and his smile long gone. Sherlock knew what John was having a nightmare about, and about what Mike had told him all those weeks before. John's sweat stained face shimmered in the dim light of the room, but he wouldn't dare move to turn the light on to see his boyfriend better. They'd have to talk about it soon, though...

They needed to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Thanks to Clueda for giving me inspiration for this. The fanfiction is great and a really good read. 
> 
> I hope that it wasn't too horrible for you. I know it was for me. Please leave a comment. :)


	13. "J'adore tu, John."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John remembers a part of the past, and picks up the courage to ask Sherlock if he can stay with him this Easter instead of at home... The place where he was tortured, by family and foes alike.

__

“ _When my legs don’t work like they used to before, And I can’t sweep you off of your feet, Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love? Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?_

_And darlin’ I will be lovin’ you ‘til we’re seventy. And baby my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three._ _I’m thinking about, How people fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe just the touch of a hand. Well me, I fall in love with you every single day. I just wanna tell you I am. So honey now. Take me into your loving arms. Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars. Place your head on my beating heart. I’m thinking out loud. Maybe we found love right where we are.”_

Ed Sheeran helped John forget about the never ending burning pain in his arm.

None of the antibiotics were working for him.

Nor was talking to Sherlock.

Sherlock himself was finding it harder and harder to go and visit John. Nobody at school, except Greg, knew why John was in hospital. Most people believed that he’d tried to kill himself after suffering with the school freak for so long. They presumed that he’d gone to his house to die; slit his wrists. Of course, being the blind imbeciles that they were, they didn't even know the half of it.

“John Watson _slit_ his wrists...”

“Finally got annoyed with the _Freak_ then?”

“I've heard that _they_ were _together_!”

“ _Who_ would want to be with _Sherlock Holmes_?”

Sherlock listened to the whispers around, they weren't whispers to him. He wanted John to be safe; to stop people from hurting him as well; John was having _none_ of it.

“I'm not letting you break up with me because you think that I'll get hurt by people. That's a bullshit reason to break up with someone!”

Sherlock looked offended for a moment, looking almost child-like in his expression. That's one thing John loved about Sherlock Holmes, his expressions were endless and extraordinary. John was _always_ surprised with the expression he received.

“Don't you understand, John, I'm trying to protect you.”

“And you don't understand that I love you too much to let you go back to when you were fourteen... _Whoops_.” John covered his mouth with his hand, ashamed at what had just burst out of his lips without any thought being put into it. “Sherlock, God, I'm _so sorry_! I wasn't supposed to say that!”

“ _Oh_ , well _what_ were you supposed to say? 'Oh sorry. I forgot to tell you that I forced Mike to spill your past...' _Piss off_!” Sherlock stormed from John's hospital room and fled a shout and a plea of his name behind him.

“I'm sorry, Sherlock.” John whispered to an empty room.

~*~*~*~

“ _You do realise that we could tell people about us right, Sherlock?”_

“ _I know we_ could _, but why_ should _we?” Was Sherlock's response. “I know what having a status means to you, John. Having to share a room with me is bad enough, let alone dating me...” Sherlock physically cringed at the word '_ dating _'. He_ hated _it._

“ _I think that you should understand that I am in no way ashamed of you!” John had protested; he wanted to show the word that he was with Sherlock, not cower away in their room for the secrecy this situation was taking._

“ _Show me.”_

“ _If that is what you want...” John whispered, pouncing on the younger boy and pinning him against the wall. Before Sherlock had any time to register the other boy's movements, his lips were being attacked and intruded by John's own. In time, when he'd recovered from the initial shock, he started kiss John back with as much power as he could give to his other half; placing his hands on John's hips and gripping tightly. John was his leverage through life, he would let_ nothing _hurt him._

 _John had his hands wound tightly in dark curls as he pulled Sherlock closer to him, impossibly closer. Sherlock, on the other hand, didn't want John to be in control,_ he _was_ _the one pressed up against a wall. Moving his hands to John's shoulders, he switched their positions, pinning John to the wall with his hips. Using his height to his advantage, he pinned John's hands above the smaller boy with one of his own. Pulling back, Sherlock looked straight into the blonde's eyes to find himself faced with a loving stare, one which he'd never received from anyone before._

“ _Sherlock...” John whispered, so Sherlock attacked. Choosing a spot which_ everyone _would see, Sherlock placed his mouth onto the left side of John's neck, above his collar, and started to nibble. John started to squirm, his arousal starting to show through his trousers. Sherlock made sure that he licked, sucked, and bit down on the piece of skin until he was certain that it would leave a rather deep purple bruise later on._

_Meeting John's mouth once more, Sherlock made sure to take John's bottom lips between his teeth and pulled. John squirmed slightly and moaned. Things were getting too far for both of them, so both of the boys pulled away simultaneously._

“ _Sorry.”_

“ _What for?”_

“ _I think I've just given you the hickey that you were supposed to give me.” Sherlock giggled and studied his work. “It's not too bad though. It'll leave a nice bruise.”_

“ _Do I get to give one to you?”_

“ _Maybe another time, John. I think we've had enough excitement for today, don't you?”_

In his sleep, John smiled to himself and remembered the events of the month before. That had been the first nice dream he had been privileged to have in months. When he awoke he found a tall figure standing at the top of his bed.

“I came to apologise, John.”

John smiled warmly and moved over in the hospital bed, making room for Sherlock if he wanted it. “Has anyone ever told you how perfect you are?”

“No. Never. My own parents don't even want me. God knows why you’ve stayed so long.”

“ _Really_?”

“I've never heard those words told to me before. It's more along the lines of 'freak', 'psycho', 'arsehole' and any other unimaginative words that people can come up with.” Sherlock walked over to John's bedside and took the older boy's hand in his own. “But then again, you confuse me, John Watson, so it's hardly surprising that you think that the case.” Sherlock kissed John's knuckles and let out a sigh. He slid easily into the bed, and pulled John’s head onto his chest.

“What are you doing for the Easter holidays?” John asked.

“Going home. Just like I try to avoid every year. What about you?”

“Why don't I go home with you this Easter? Then I know that you won't get hurt, and we'll be able to look out for each other. I think it'd work, Sherlock. You wouldn't have to be alone again.”

Sherlock shook his head violently, “My father doesn't care who watches. To him I am worthless; made to be hurt. He doesn't care for my well-fare. He only talks to me when he’s angry at me being expelled again.”

“He won't hurt you while I'm there, I promise.”

“You'd have to go and see your family for Easter, John. You'd leave for a few days and he'd take everything out then. It's not safe for you at my home. You're safer at your own home.”

“I don't want to go back there, Sherlock...” John whimpered into Sherlock's arm, he'd been clutching it tighter and tighter as Sherlock spoke and now the truth came out to his boyfriend. “I'm absolutely _terrified_!” He whispered, hoping Sherlock would listen and let him stay with him for Easter this year. “There's my dad who can't keep his fist off of me when I'm home, and then everything that Mor-” John's voice broke and he looked down at his arm. Sherlock was completely vacant. “I-I just want somewhere to stay this Easter where I know I won't have to hide myself or protect my family.”

“You won't be protecting them by running away, John. You may even make it worse. That's the trouble with me, I turn even the purest of people into something sour and poisonous.”

“Is that what you think you've done to me, because it's not you know.”

Ignoring John's statement completely, Sherlock asked, “What were you hoping to achieve by asking Mike about my past?”

John thought for a few moments and then let out a deep sigh, “I was concerned for you. When I caught you smoking I knew there was something wrong. You think I don't know about your drug stash in your skull, but I do, you know. It wasn't particularly hard to guess considering you flinched every time I went near it. Oh God, I'm turning into you now.” John and Sherlock both giggled. “I just needed to know what I was letting myself in for, especially because you're not exactly what I would call a normal person. Not that it's bad.”

“J'adore tu, John.”

“J'adore tu trop, Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait. Damn, mock exams!
> 
> I should be learning my French speaking assessment, but I'm here writing this instead. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, leave a comment.


	14. John has a secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has some news for Sherlock, but will Sherlock like it?

__

One week later, John's nightmares had gotten worse. By Sherlock's estimations he'd lost a stone since starting before the incident.

Two weeks later, John was released from hospital to go and live with his family somewhere other than the home in which everything shattered. The beatings continued.

Three weeks later, John hadn't seen Sherlock since he'd left hospital. He presumed Sherlock was too busy. In the back of his mind, however, something nagged at his skull. He stopped eating and took his father's anger as though it was nothing.

During week one, Sherlock had called to see if John was okay. The Doctor in charge replied, “I'm sorry, he didn't make it.” Sherlock's face dropped, his fists clenching too tightly. “Whoops, wrong person.” Came next.

During week two, Sherlock realised that John would be better off without him for a while. It was for John after all, and he was prepared to do anything for his only friend.

During week three, Sherlock had found a new dealer, one that Mycroft and Greg _didn't_ know about, and got high in order to forget about John. Nothing would happen to him if Sherlock left him alone... Well, that was the plan any way.

Both of the boys were a wreck without each other.

By week four, Mycroft smiled as he made the deal. He had betrayed Sherlock. He knew he'd _never_ be forgiven for this was one time too many for Sherlock to take.

But, dammit, he wanted Park Lane. He'd be damned if he didn't take it from his little brother.

Sherlock had sulked away, too tired and lonely to even bother attempting to argue with his brother. There was no point. No point to anything.

One day, during week five, also the Easter holidays, Sherlock received a text from someone who hadn't appeared on his phone in over a month. It took him by surprise because his phone _never_ made a noise quite like that. It was far louder than it normally would be, as though it were trying to communicate with the boy.

_'Hey, Sherlock. I presume you received my letter. If you haven't read it, please do, and text me back. ASAP. -John x'_

Sherlock had indeed received a letter from John a couple of days ago, but he'd thrown it into the bin straight away. He would take it out from time to time and have an internal debate on whether he should open it or not. But, purely because _John_ had asked, he would open it now.

Taking the red envelope out from the bin, Sherlock took a deep intake of breath; preparing himself for whatever was inside. His eyes glossed over with tears as soon as his eyes met the paper.

_'Dearest Sherlock,_

_I know that we haven’t been in contact since I left the hospital; that’s easy to understand. What I don't understand, however, is why we haven’t spoken to each other. This isn't how I wanted us to be when I got, albeit,_ slightly _better than I was before. I miss you, too much._

_I've been- Well, I've been writing this letter for the past month, and it hasn't turned out right so far. I'm sorry, but I want nothing but perfection for someone like you, Sherlock. You've been through too much in your short life, and you definitely don't deserve it._

_'Why am I writing such a pointless letter?' I hear you ask. Sorry, that was a terrible attempt at an impersonation of you. Sorry._

_In all honesty, I've been torturing myself about you and I don't think it's fair to continue to do that. I'm pretty sure you would have had a relapse in more than one way by now, and that's_ entirely _my fault, and Sherlock, I'm so, so sorry. Please. Stop._

_Go to your draw. Take out any razors or knives that you have hidden there secretly and throw them out. I don't want you to have that temptation. Throw out your skull if you still keep all of your drugs hidden inside it. Yes, I knew all about that hiding place. Not so sneaky now, are you?_

_Get rid of it all. (Maybe except your cigarettes. We can work on those together. Yes, I've taken up smoking. Not as bad as I thought.)_

_I miss you._

_We need to talk. My nightmares are getting worse, more vivid. Different every time. Sometimes it's your broken body shattered on the ground before me, but Moriarty's standing over it, so I can't get to you, even if it's just a last attempt. I end up killing myself, every time._

_Others, I die before you can get to me, and I am forced to watch in the after-life as you fall apart after my death and eventually kill yourself... Sorry. I don't like to think about what we'd do without each other and I'm sure that you don't want to think about it either._

_How are you? Does your father still, well, you know? Mine still does._

_Do you want to know the details? I'll tell you any way. It's better than it has been before. My dad always knows somewhere in there that I'm already in pain, and he hurts me a lot less than he used to. I guess that it still doesn't excuse the fact that he does beat me... I just want it all to be over, Sherlock._

_That brings me onto my next line of discussion... University. I got the reply for my application, the one I haven't told you about, and it has come back with a yes. I'm going to become a Doctor. But, there's a catch. Something I_ definitely _didn't tell you about..._

_I'm joining the Army, Sherlock._

_I'm sorry. I know that you got into Oxford, Mycroft told me, and I'm really, really happy for you! I need to be a Doctor, Sherlock, and the Army can help me achieve that._

_You probably won't even read this letter, but I want you to call me as soon as you do. Please don't hate me. It's for the best._

_All my love,_

_John._

_Xx'_

Sherlock's eyes were no longer dry like they were before. He claimed himself to be a High Functioning Sociopath, but right now he couldn't have been more wrong.

He cared for John too much for both of their goods.

He wanted to delete the boy so badly, especially if he was going out to be killed somewhere that Sherlock couldn't join him. If John died, Sherlock would delete his existence, as though nothing had ever happened between them. Nobody would need to know.

But John was safe, for now, and Sherlock wanted to hold onto him for a long as possible. Jumping up from his bed, Sherlock grabbed his phone and ran from his home. His parents and Mycroft were all shouting at him, words he couldn't understand... He didn't care.

 Sherlock only wanted to see John.

He ran, faster than he had ever ran from his life before, never stopping and barely breathing.

He needed to get to John as fast as he could.

~*~*~*~

“John, have you told Sherlock about your... _Choice_?”

“Come on, Harry. You know we haven't spoken since the hospital. I didn't mean for this to happen, and now Sherlock's going to hate me even more than before. I'm so stupid!” John put his head in his hands and sighed slightly.

“Oh, he won't hate you. He'll never forgive you if you get hurt, just like I won't, but he won't _hate_ you.” Harry heard the doorbell ring and moved towards the bathroom. “If that's Emily, tell her I'll be out in a minute.” She closed the door behind her and John was left to open the door.

“Emily, Harry told me to tell you that she’ll out in a minute, so-” John looked at the figure in the doorway. It wasn't an average height, blonde haired girl that John had been expecting to see standing there.

No, instead there stood a boy, huffing as though he'd been running for miles, sweat drops were falling from his forehead, and he was clutching his stomach. His dark hair was no longer as well curled, instead deciding it wanted to stick to the boy's forehead. He had a large, dark purple bruise that covered both his right eye and the cheek and jaw below it. It wasn't just from one punch then.

Sherlock looked like he had run the whole way here from his house.

“I assure you that my name is not Emily and that I am not here to have sex with your sister. I would much rather do that with you, John.” Sherlock _always_ knew how to charm someone.

“I-I. Hi.”

“Hello.” Sherlock smiled at the blonde boy and wiped his arm across his soaking forehead.

“Hi.”

“Is that really all you can say? I've just run three miles on food that I ate three days ago and all you can say is 'hi'?” Sherlock teased, though there was some seriousness in his voice. “Can I come in? I think we have some things to mphh-” Sherlock stopped as the lips he had been so desperately wanting over the past month, re-joined themselves to his own. John was kissing him, and it wasn't with the calmness Sherlock was expecting.

John was savage against Sherlock's mouth. Tugging Sherlock's lips between his teeth one by one and pulling them until he could taste blood. Sherlock had little time to breathe when he pulled away because John wanted so much of Sherlock, and he got it when he shoved his tongue into the taller boy's mouth. His hand held Sherlock tightly by his hair and made sure that he stayed put. As close as he could get to John's body, just like he should be.

John's tongue tasted every part of Sherlock's mouth. Behind his teeth and fighting for dominance with his tongue. They both tasted like smoke, but they couldn't care less.

When John pulled away, Sherlock tried to follow his mouth, but John placed a hand on his chest.

“Ugh. No offence, but you really smell. Go have a shower.” John pushed the younger boy inside and handed him a towel. 

“Well, I did just run three miles. I guess I would be Superman if I could do that without sweating!” “Go.”

“I adore you.” Sherlock smiled before shutting the bathroom door behind him. He didn't know why he'd said that to John, but it had seemed like a good thing to say, in the moment.

Once he'd taken all of his clothes off, he stared at himself at the full body mirror in the room, looking at himself from head to toe. Sherlock _hated_ it.

His hair was greasy from where he hadn't washed in days, the sweat, and from the neglect of food. Each hair had split ends and made him look like a complete mess. The true colour of his curls were gone, and, although John had presumed it was just from the running itself, they no longer curled like they used to.

On his forearms there were a combination of red, brown and white marks. Some old. Some recent. And some new. Three were only from this morning, Sherlock knew he couldn't do any more. He didn't want to.

There were also track marks in the crook of his elbow that were fading slowly. Sherlock hadn't touched the cocaine since Monday, today was Friday.

When his gaze looked up at his face he watched as his eyes looked even emptier than they’d seemed before. They hand no shine to them anymore. None of the colour that they had before. He sighed and tried to look down.

His collar bone had several burn marks from cigarettes. He hadn't burnt himself with the cigarettes... That had all been his parents. He was littered with bruises, excluding the ones on his face. His ribs were still intact, thankfully, but his chest was almost purple. He hadn't even been expelled yet.

Sherlock sighed and turned the shower on. He didn't want to look at himself, it was something that he could avoid. But he forced himself to look so that he saw what John had to see.

When in the shower, Sherlock used John's shampoo and washed himself over fully. He enjoyed smelling like John, even if it was for a little while when John wasn't in their dorm. Sherlock would take one of John's jumpers and wear it. When John came back to their room, he wouldn't suspect a thing.

Then he was done. He got out of the shower, and realised that he didn't have any spare clothes, or a towel to dry himself off with. Still dripping, he made his way to the door, unlocking it, and peeping his head out so that he could shout to John, “John! I think I dropped the towel somewhere.”

“Here is it, you silly git.” John handed the boy back his towel with a smile. Their gaze stayed for a few seconds, before Sherlock mumbled something incoherent and vanished back into the bathroom. Damn. John hadn't gotten him any clothes. Well, Sherlock would just have to come out and get them then, wouldn't he.

“John, I think I need some clothes.” The response came a few seconds later.

“Well, you're going to have to come and get them then, Sherlock.” John smirked to himself, grabbing a pair of pants from a draw and turning just in time to see Sherlock enter his bedroom. The boy really was a sight. For someone who didn't eat, Sherlock was remarkably toned. “Wow.”

“Are you going to stand there all day gawking at me, or are you going to give me some clothes?” Sherlock asked snappily, his arms folded across his chest.

“I-I, yes.” John threw the pants at Sherlock and moved to his wardrobe. “What do you want?” When he turned around, Sherlock had dropped the towel and was in nothing but the pants John had just given him.

“What do you have?”

“Jeans?”

“Jeans, _really_? Do you think I'm one to wear jeans, John?”

“Do you know what? I'll leave you to choose your own clothes and I'll wait downstairs. We, well, we have lots to discuss, I think.” John left quickly, leaving a practically naked Sherlock on his own.

John missed the disappointment spread across Sherlock's face as he left. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. i hope you enjoyed the chapter. 
> 
> I'm seeing 12 Years a Slave today, wish me luck. 
> 
> Please leave a comment.


	15. Sherlock Crashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock crashes and there is nothing that John can do to help him come back to himself... He's already tried.

__

“ _Do you know what? I'll leave you to choose your own clothes and I'll wait downstairs. We, well, we have lots to discuss, I think.” John left quickly, leaving a practically naked Sherlock on his own. John missed the disappointment spread across Sherlock's face as he left._

After a full _fifteen_ minutes of waiting for Sherlock to hurry up and pick something to wear, ( _“Surely it doesn't take people that long to choose a jumper!”_ ) John had finally had enough. He was sure that Sherlock was stalling so they didn't have to have the conversation about John leaving him behind... _Stop it, John._

“Sherlock!” John called into his room, tapping the door lightly to pre-warn Sherlock that he was going to enter. “Sherlock, I'm coming in.” When he pushed open the door, however, it was not what he had been expecting... “Oh my God!”

Sherlock...

The boy was sprawled across the floor. All the colour, what little he had of it, had drained out of his face; leaving Sherlock completely white. _This must have been what he looked like all of those years ago_ John thought silently to himself. That's when his Doctor's instinct cut in. He raced towards the boy on the floor and put his finger to his neck. _A strong, but uneven, pulse_. John let out his breath. His hand went to Sherlock's forehead next; he wasn't too warm, which was good.

John studied Sherlock's face, attempting to ignore the bruising there to focus on the natural formations of ill-health. The bags under Sherlock's eyes were heavier now than they'd been when the boy would stay up almost constantly to watch over John, while he was in hospital ( _“You need protecting, John. This can't happen again!”_ ). When he looked at Sherlock's arms, the breath was taken from John immediately. _Track marks_. Sherlock had been using again; _big problem_.

As John thought more about Sherlock's past and how he had been neglecting the same boy in _exactly the same way_ as everyone had done before; he felt sick. His throat went numb and he clutched at his stomach.

 _He did this_.

Just as the retching began, John flung himself towards his bin and managed to throw up directly into the bin. Coughing, to release the rest of the fluid stuck in his throat, he looked back over at Sherlock.

Strangely, the boy looked _peaceful_.

It was probably the most peace that he would have gotten in a _long_ time.

John didn't particularly want to think about how all of the bruises along Sherlock's torso had gotten there, so he pulled a blanket from his bed over the boy to cover him up.

Sherlock and his stupid transport theory ( _“Why should I look after my body if it's just_ transport _, John?”_ )! That was what probably caused the boy to crash. He had already told John that he hadn't even eaten in three days. Probably hadn't slept in five. And then he ran three miles, solid by the looks of things, to get to John. The drugs probably didn't help Sherlock at all.

“Please wake up, Sherlock. We need to talk about _a lot_ of things, and I can't do that if you're asleep.” The blonde boy sighed into the room and hugged his knees close to his chest. “I just wanted you to know, that even though I'll be on the other side of the World, I'll never leave you alone. You're probably afraid of that the most. Or not. You're Sherlock Holmes; you don't worry about things like normal people.” John sighed once more and stood to go and get the taste of sick out of his mouth.

When he returned, expecting to see Sherlock still on the floor, he was surprised to see his boyfriend standing, fully dressed, next to the window.

“Sherlock?” The tall boy tensed when he heard his name. When his body began to shake, John began to worry. “Sherlock, are you okay?”

“I'm sorry, father. I-I won't run off again.” Sherlock’s gaze was still out of the window, away from John. The blonde boy moved forward slowly, so he didn't scare Sherlock, and placed his hands out in front of him so that they reached Sherlock first. “I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...” Sherlock was muttering over and over.

“What's wrong, Sherlock?” John tried once more; he needed to get through to Sherlock now. He turned the boy by his shoulders and made him face him. There was something _seriously_ wrong; his eyes were completely vacant. When John tried to shake him, Sherlock only whimpered louder and dropped to the floor. He pulled his knees tightly into his chest, resting his head upon them and rocking viciously.

John hadn't seen this in a long time... He experienced it more than he saw it.

He sat himself down next to Sherlock, and slowly wrapped his arms around the quivering form. He rested his head upon Sherlock's head and began to talk to him.

 _Tell Sherlock who he is._ “I need you to listen to me. Your name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes, though you go by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Of course you do, you live and thrive to be different to everyone else.”

 _Where are you right now?_ “We're in my bedroom, right now. You're not though; which is why I need you to come back to me now.”

 _Tell Sherlock what he's like._ “You are the smartest person I know, Sherlock, and I wouldn't trade my love for you to _anyone_ else. You are seriously the _only_ person that I love right now, and I want to help you just as much as you've helped me these past few months. If I'm honest, I don't tell you how much you mean to me enough, I don't think you believe me. And I should, _every day_. I'm sorry. Please come back to me.” John whispered into Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock had continued his rocking, but it was less violent now. His eyes hadn't focused yet, but John's words were reaching out to him inside his memory. _John..._ “I'm sorry... I'm sorry...” He muttered once more, trying to reach John and leave his nightmare.

John hugged Sherlock tighter to his body and continued to whisper into his hair, “You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sherlock. I love you, and I've just ignored you while I've been recovering. That was so _wrong_ of me, and I'm _so sorry_ for that.”

“I'm sorry too, Jawn.”

John almost completely missed Sherlock's whisper into his knees. “ _Sherlock_?” He unwrapped himself and knelt in front of the other boy so that he could see him clearly. “Sherlock, I need you to look at me.” Sherlock did as John asked, but his eyes were vacant, and did not focus on John himself. John moved forward and placed his mouth on Sherlock's, trying to get the Genius' attention. With a sigh, John got up and left Sherlock alone, hoping that it would bring Sherlock out of his daze.

 _What do I do now?_ John thought to himself.

In the bathroom, John relieved himself and turned to look in the mirror. He _hated_ himself. In fact, who was he to judge Sherlock? He looked just as bad, yet here he was scolding the younger boy for his choices in life. How could he do that? Before John knew it, he was hugging his bleeding hand to his chest, and the mirror was smashed.

“John? _John_ ” Sherlock was shouting for him, and his hand was cut from the shard of glass. It was his own fault really. He shouldn't have left Sherlock alone.

He ran.

Sherlock was now in the foetal position and holding his head in his hands. Under his breath, John could hear Sherlock muttering 'John' over and over. But there was nothing that John could do to stop Sherlock's crash. He had to escape it on his own; John always had to.

“J-ohn...” Sherlock started to whimper and shake in his position now-He was crying.

“Sherlock, you need to come back on your own. I remember I winded Harry once when she tried to wake me from one of my nightmares. I don't particularly want you to break my nose if I wake you from yours.” John joked, laughing slightly at the end.

It took a few minutes, but Sherlock came back.

“Jawn... What, why am I on your floor?” Sherlock had woken and was now, still looking half-dead, staring at John. The tears were being wiped away from his cheeks and eyes- Always stopping any sign of weakness ( _“Emotions are no good to me. They slow people down, John.”_ ).

“Y-you utter dick.” John threw himself down next to Sherlock and quickly apologised. “Sorry, I don't mean that.”

“Obviously you did otherwise you would not have said it.” Sherlock snapped back and threw his body onto the floor.

“Well, yes I did mean it.” He sighed and wrapped himself around Sherlock's back so that he could talk directly into his ear. “You scared me, Sherlock. You were away for such a long time. You kept apologising to your father, and then to _me_. But I didn't know why, so I left you alone.”

“You said that you don't tell me how much I mean to you- I should be the one to apologise on that front. I presumed that you wouldn't want to talk to me. In the hospital you were having nightmares about me and my past; and I was the one that put you in hospital. So, I thought that it would be better if I distanced myself from you so that you got on with your life in peace...” Sherlock sobbed slightly and wiped his hand across his eye. “It's fine. I am a dick.” Both of the boys laughed slightly.

“Sherlock, you told me a few weeks ago, while I was asleep might I add- Or at least you thought I was, that if I ever died, you would delete me from your Mind Palace ( _“You're too... Precious to me, John. I wouldn't be able to live knowing that you were dead...”_ ). Would you really do that?”

“Yes.” Came the whisper.

“You do realise that this will get us both away from our families... Well, maybe not Mycroft as he seems to follow you _everywhere_...” Each of the boys chuckled thinking about Mycroft's weird Power Complex. “And I'll be able to see you every six months.”

“When are you deployed?”

“Oh, I have to do my training at Bart's first. It should be a great experience. I'm looking forward to it.” Sherlock sighed. “What? It'll get me out there and I'll earn money by learning. That's always a plus side, isn't it?” John chuckled to himself but hissed slightly when Sherlock pulled his arm tighter into his own body and bit it. “Oi! Why are you biting my arm?”

“So then I know what you taste like. I can put it in my Mind Palace.”

“Sherlock, you already know what I taste like... You don't have to bite me to-”

“We should have sex.”

John spluttered and yanked his arm free, turning Sherlock over in the process, “What?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry; I know it's been a while. I've had mocks and now I'm studying for my actual exams... Jesus Christ I'm scared. 
> 
> Any way, I hope you enjoyed this chapter- Please leave a comment and kudos. It's much appreciated. Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> P.s. I've changed chapter 12 as someone commented something, so I changed it...


	16. A Cuddle, A Talk and A Cement Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a talk about something very personal and very scary to Sherlock. And Mycroft is on hand to get rid of someone as soon as John needs it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.... Sorry. Yes, I know it has been over a month and a half since I last updated. I've been revising and taking my GCSEs... 12 exams down, 4 to go... Ugh. So, I haven't had time to update this. But, we're in half term now, so I've given you this really shitty update... Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: I HAVE EDITED EVERY CHAPTER! YOU NEED TO RE-READ THEM ALL, IF YOU WERE READING FROM THE BEGINNING ORIGINALLY.

_“We should have sex.”_

_John spluttered and yanked his arm free, turning Sherlock over in the process, “What?!”_

“Sex. You know, that thing that couples do when they're in love. It all seems rather tedious, if you ask me, but for you I would make an exception. In fact, I think I'd rather like to bottom-” Sherlock rambled, moving himself into a sitting position and rubbing his cheek slightly- It had hit the carpet on the way down. “I mean, who would actually want someone else's penis inside their body? I'm sure it'd be extremely painful, and for what? What do you think-”

“Sherlock!” John had to shout to get Sherlock out of his rambling. “We don't have to have sex just because I'm going to Afghanistan.” He placed his hand on Sherlock's cheek and turned the younger boy's face towards his own, “And, I especially don't want to have sex with you if you think it's tedious.”

Sherlock's face dropped slightly, “Oh. Did I say that?” John nodded in response. “Well, I thought that it would be something that you would love to do, considering you're a teenage boy, and teenage boys have needs and urges that need to be fulfilled. You know that I don't usually have those urges, but I'd be happy to have that intimacy with you if you wanted it.”

While Sherlock was talking, he had turned his face away from John's so that he could stare at the wall. He didn't notice John folding his arms and staring at the ceiling with his eyebrows raised. “I could even switch off the pain button in my Mind Palace so that it's as pleasurable as possible... John?” He looked at his boyfriend, seemingly asleep next to Sherlock on the floor. “Jawn?”

“Sorry, Sherlock. I was so bored of you rambling on, that I decided sleep was more interesting.” John sat up and crossed his legs, sitting directly in front of Sherlock now. “On a more serious note, you don't have to be so worried.”

“Worried? I'm not worried. I'm simply trying to make you more comfortable because I know that you've only ever slept with girls-”

“And you've never had sex with anyone...”

“-so I'm rambling to ease the fact that I'm a boy. The same sex as you. Someone who doesn't have a” Sherlock gestured to his crotch, “vagina or breasts, and is undoubtedly less attractive to you than any woman would ever be. I'm sorry, John, but-Ow!” Sherlock cradled his cheek from where John had just slapped him. “What was that for?”

“You’re speaking complete and utter bullshit, Sherlock. I don't care that you're a boy. I don't care that you don't have a... vagina or boobs, because I love you for you.” John huffed and stood, his hands ruffling his hair slightly. “Look. I'm not going to take your virginity because it's not what you want. You know it's not.”

He didn't say that he knows it's not.

He said 'you'...

“J-John...”

“Sherlock, I want you to be comfortable with me. If I have sex with you because you think it's what I want, then I'm practically raping you. I am not doing that! I want to have sex with you when, and only when, you want to have sex with me, it's your decision.” Sherlock's gaze moved down to the floor. “And if that's never, then that's good too. Sure, I've had sex with quite a few girls in my time, but that doesn't mean I'm going to throw myself on you, Sherlock.”

“But, I know that you really want to, John!” Sherlock practically shouted at his boyfriend. “Surely we should do something that makes the other person appreciate them.”

“When I first met you, you had no porn magazines, and I was so shocked and you couldn't understand why. Do you remember that?”

“Of course I remember that, John.” Sherlock snapped back, completely insecure about where this conversation was heading- He knew exactly what John was going to talk about.

“Well, most boys do have at least one. So you caught me by surprise. Then you said that you're 'married to your work' and I left it alone. I thought about it sometimes though, because you never stared when I kissed a girl and you didn't react badly when you saw a girl in my bed on a morning. I eventually presumed-”

“What? What did you presume?”

“If you'd just let me finish. I presumed, with all of the evidence that had been placed before me, that you were asexual- Believe me, I did my research. I mean, you honestly can't blame me.

“Remember that time we watched 'Indiana Jones: Last Crusade'? Well, when Indiana got it on with that German chic my face blushed bright red, purely because you were right there next to me. I remember your reaction perfectly- Or lack of reaction, even. You just stared at the screen, eyebrows raised and you said nothing. You looked as pale as ever. It was like this didn't even register in your mind as being sexual.”

“So what if I don't react to sexual stimuli? Not everybody does, you know, John.” Sherlock was getting very snappy now. He'd had enough of this conversation and was ready to jump out of John's window if he needed to.

“I know. I know. Even when you forced me to watch 'Rocky Horror' with you, I don't remember you once getting an erection...”

“And you did?”

“I-I... W-well. Erm. I...”

“Spit it out, John.”

“Fine. Yes, I did. But you can't blame me. That film is full of sex!”

“Does it make me a freak because I don't get erections when watching that sort of thing?” Sherlock asked honestly. He didn't know how John would react to all of this.

“No.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe that you’d think that I would even think that of you. It’s not true! In fact, I'll bloody murder the person that started calling you that!” That was not the reaction that Sherlock had been expecting. “God. I'm starting to sound like you.”

“Unfortunately for you, I'd have to solve the murder of the first person to call me that. And now that you have just revealed your plan to me, I could just go to the police and tell them my predictions on what you're about to do.” Both boy chuckled quietly.

“Alternatively, I could let you kill him or her and marry you when you return from Afghanistan.” John stopped smiling when Sherlock said that, all seriousness returned to his features. “Actually, forget that.” Sherlock made a move to run, but John caught his wrist and pulled him back down to the floor.

“Do you really mean that?” Sherlock looked away from John completely and nodded once. “Wow. I mean, I was expecting to be the one to get down on one knee, but you're on the whole of your bottom right now. You must be serious!” Sherlock stood quickly.

“John. I'm trying to be serious here. You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

“I am being serious... Mostly. Okay. I'm being serious about my thinking. I literally thought that I would be the one to propose to you.”

“I haven't actually proposed. I simply said that I would marry you when you returned from Afghanistan. And I mean alive. I don't want to be marrying a corpse that's six feet under the ground. You wouldn't even exist to me any more if you did that. If you let that happen.”

“Hey. It's not like I can choose when I'm going to die, Sherlock.”

“I can choose when I delete you though.”

“And that's a sad truth that we'll both have to live with. Well, we will until I die and you delete the complete knowledge of you ever meeting me, of course. But, that'll be a while yet.”

“I... Mycroft has also created a gas which he'll give to all of your friends...”

“What?”

“He thinks that it's best if we all forget you because each of us has potential, apparently. I think he just doesn't want to deal with George if you die, because he'll have a crying boyfriend all the time, and he won't know what to do with him. What a selfish reason. I mean, I can see Graham and Molly going places. Mike could even get himself somewhere if he tried. Anderson and Donovan though... Ugh. I would not hold too much hope for them.” Sherlock physically shivered when he thought about Anderson and Donovan.

“So, if-if I die, then nobody will remember me? Not even my parents or Harry?”

“They'll be allowed to remember. How can Mycroft explain why your parents have pictures of this strange boy that they don't even remember having? It's only people that matter to you that'll be made to forget.”

“'People that matter'? My family matters to me.”

“Yet you want to leave as soon as possible because your sister and father are alcoholics, one beats you and the other is just a bitch. And then you have a mother-”

“Stop it!”

“-who stands and takes everything your father does without telling anybody, and even leaves you to take the hits-”

“Stop. It!”

“-, so it wouldn't surprise me if you let me kill them all because they're a bloody waste of space and they bring you down at every opportunity.” Sherlock sucked in a large amount of air to compensate for his fast monologue.

“Finished?” John hissed at Sherlock before standing and punching a wall, using the same fist he'd punched the mirror with in the bathroom. He screamed when his fist collided with the wall the first time, but then he studied his hand for a moment, and then continued to punch the wall in front of him. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and pulled him away from the wall.

“You idiot. Look what you've done! You've smashed the bathroom mirror as well, haven't you? Well, I don't think your father is going to be happy about-”

“JOHN!!”

“-that...”

“Oh god.”

“How did he get in without us hearing?”

“Well, I was punching the wall, Sherlock.”

“JOHN! WHY IS THIS MIRROR SMASHED?”

“Oh no... Sherlock, you've got to get out of here. Now!” John tried to push Sherlock out of the room, knowing that his father would enter soon and that Sherlock would get hurt... He didn't need that. “Please leave me and save yourself from him.”

“JOHN! Why is the mirror- Who the fuck are you?” John's father shouted when he slammed John's bedroom door open. He stared at Sherlock, who was now holding John's hands in his own, and raised his eyebrows. “Oh. So I've raised two fags in my house then, have I?”

“Excuse me, Mister Watson, but I don't think that's any way to talk to your son. A son that you were waiting for many years.” Sherlock was now standing in between John and his father, trying to protect John from any punches Mister Watson may throw.

“You had a daughter before you had John, and that made you extremely angry, didn't it? Harriet Watson- The girl who hated her name and herself so much, that she changed her name to Harry just to try and ease her way through her life a bit. She was hated by you because she was a girl. And then John Hamish Watson came along and you hated him even more. Why? What did he do?”

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY!”

“Oh, don't I? Well, let me see. You beat up my boyfriend, worse now than before, even though he was tortured by a psychopath and almost lost his arm! You bring him down every single day with your bullshit because you are an incompetent idiot. I'm surprised your wife is still with you because you’re an alcoholic having an affair with the twenty-seven year old next door. Tell me, does Miss Haywood know that you're an alcoholic or that you physically hurt your family? Or do you leave that part out when you shag her?”

“You listen here you little shit-”

“No, you listen to me, Mister Watson. I have a brother, Mycroft, who is very high up in the Government. He could, what's the term he uses? Oh yes! He could 'dispose of ' you at any time that he wishes. You wouldn't even exist anymore, Mister Watson. You would be dead, and nobody would even know. Nobody would care!” Sherlock shrugged slightly and walked towards, the now fuming, Mister Watson. “Come on. What do you have to say?”

“I'm going to punch your lights out!”

“No, you're not. You're too much of a wimp to take it out on your son's boyfriend. You'll just take it out on John instead. And, I'm truly very sorry Mister Watson, but I cannot allow you harm him anymore. It has been going on long enough for me to sit by and wait.” Sherlock stood up to his full height, taller than Mister Watson, and looked the man dead in the eyes. “Oh, looks like we've finished just in time. Hello, Mycroft. How are you?”

Mister Watson turned around to find a man in a three-piece suit leaning on an umbrella in the doorway to John's room. Behind him stood two men, dressed fully in black and holding guns. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh. Has Sherlock not mentioned me? I thought he would have by now! Always like to play the 'Big Brother' card in his disputes. I'm Mycroft Holmes, Mister Watson. I'm here to ‘dispose’ of you.” Mycroft finished his introduction with an evil grin which turned extremely sour as he looked the man down.

“John, do you have anything you would like to say to this man before he’s at the bottom of the Thames?” Mycroft's head cocked to the side.

John's eyes widened slightly, but he managed to recover. His gaze turned to Sherlock for a moment, the other boy staring at him almost sympathetically, before looking back at his dad. “There was nothing more that you could do to me to make me feel any worse about myself as a person.” John whispered the first part, but then gained courage and took a deep breath. “You do not understand how much pain you've put your own family through, all my life... You've hurt mum because she's too scared to stand up for herself. You've hurt Harry because she's a lesbian, well I have news for you. She's also an alcoholic just like you. Why? Because you made her that way. I hope that you rot in hell.” John knew that his ending was shouted right in the man's face, so he left the room quickly.

“Can someone look at John Watson's hands, please?” John heard Mycroft call from inside the room. The elder brother walked out, his men holding John's father in toll, and he smiled sadly down at John. “We apologise that we did not intervene sooner. I, personally, have been shouted at by Sherlock on many occasion, but I have not acted on those shouts until now. And for that, I am sorry.”

“It's fine, Mycroft. You didn't need to do anything.”

“Surely that's not true, John. Even I could see that Mycroft needed to something about it. That's why I practically begged him when we first got together.” Sherlock was leaning against the wall behind where his brother was standing. “Pity it took him so long, however.” He moved over to where John was sat and slid down the wall to be next to him.

“When will my mum and Harry know? You can't just leave them out of everything.” John insisted, leaning his head on Sherlock's shoulder slightly. Sherlock looked up at his brother and nodded slightly.

“I'm afraid that the only people that will know of your father's death is the three people here and the two men who are going to drop him into the ocean. It has to be that way.” Mycroft paused and let out a sigh. “We will tell your mother and your sister that he has left you, we can even write a convincing note in his hand. He will have moved to Australia, to never return. He will leave everything to you and your mother, and I have taken the liberty of moving the remaining money in his account to your account, with a little extra that Sherlock insisted I add after he received your... News.”

“You honestly don't have to do all of that, Mycroft.” John stood up from his pace on the floor and started to walk towards the kitchen. From the fridge he took out a beer and opened it up. “Do you want one?” He asked the Holmes brothers.

“If you drink yourself into darkness, John, just to forget everything that has happened, then you're no better than he is.” Sherlock lightly scolded him, taking John's free hand in his own. “Please, John. Put the beer down.” When the other boy placed the bottle to his lips, Sherlock let go of his hand. He went to move away, but a smash from behind him stopped his movements.

“Don't go.” John whispered into the room. Sherlock turned around and held out a hand to John, which was taken quickly so that the older boy was flush against Sherlock's body. John started to sob into Sherlock's shirt, gripping it tightly in his fists.

“I'll leave you to it.” Mycroft mouthed to his younger brother, happy that he'd found someone worth fighting for at last. And with that, he left the two boys alone, and clicked Greg's number on his speed dial.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, a sobbing John on his chest, and clutched the smaller boy to him as hard as he could. “Shhh. It's fine now, John. You're fine. He's gone.” He whispered into the older teen's ear.

John's face revealed itself to Sherlock. He didn’t look great.

“Thank you.” John whispered before pecking Sherlock lightly on the lips. “I couldn't have done that without you, Sherlock.” Sherlock kissed John's head once and hummed in agreement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Thanks for reading and sticking with me, if you have. Please leave a comment if there's anything you want me to add. 
> 
> I don't know when I'll update again. Probably around the 14th of June, as my exams finish on the 12th. I'll need a break I think. But, I'm also afraid that I am planning to end this fanfiction very soon so that I can focus on my other one: 'Darker Sides Than A Mortal'. You should check that out. I have an idea of where to end this, and I'm afraid it won't be happy for any of you... I apologise in advance.


	17. First Time for Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes emotions just build up...

_“Thank you.” John whispered before pecking Sherlock lightly on the lips. “I couldn't have done that without you, Sherlock.” Sherlock kissed John's head once and hummed in agreement._

He appreciated the fact that he’d left John alone while he rolled around on a high, wallowing in self-pity. He recognised that he’d reacted badly to John’s very important news. But now, for the first time in his life, he _understood_ how John felt.

There were times in his life when Sherlock Holmes felt utterly alone. It was unclear to him, however, that he was not alone at all. People had tried, but _he_ had pushed them away with a biting comment and sneer-filled glance. He had never fully comprehended that there were people in the World with far less than he had- People who were far more important than him… Until now.

John Watson felt he was not wanted in the World, so he held Sherlock a little tighter. He slept a little longer than he should do.

_In September, John signed up to join a group of people who could possibly take him to his grave. John Watson did not care for this possibility. He had an alcoholic father who would have rather beat him than praise him. He had a mother who would rather look after herself than her children. He had a sister more interested in alcohol and sex than she was in him…_

_What left was there for him to live for?_

_Then Sherlock Holmes arrived._

Sherlock wanted to take away all of the pain that John had ever felt, make up for lost time. But now his time was running out. In a matter of weeks, John Watson would be taken from him, to be possibly never seen again. That thought alone made Sherlock shiver.

When he’d made sure that all of Mycroft’s men, including the man himself, were gone so that he could talk to John alone, he steered John towards the sofa. He pressed gently on his shoulders to lower his body, and then quickly placed himself beside John. Strong arms grabbed him tightly, the air being taken from him briefly, and a head shoved itself under his chin. Soon his neck was wet, and the body he was holding was shaking slightly with sobs.

John lifted his head slightly, eyes red rimmed and glassy when they made contact with Sherlock’s, and spoke almost silently, “I-I’m sorry, Sherlock…” He sniffed slightly, his hold on Sherlock tightening fractionally. “For the record, I really wish I’d told you about… You know.” Sherlock moved his head so that his cheek lay against John’s hair. “It’s just, sometimes I do things without thinking, without _knowing_ , the impacts of those things.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock’s confusion was genuine; he could not understand what John meant.

“D-do you remember the day we met?”

“The day you saved me? Yes, I remember it very well. That _idiot_ Anderson,” Sherlock sneered his name as though it were poison against his tongue, “wasn’t really a match for me.”

“And yet you needed saving.” John giggled slightly, his hand clutching around Sherlock’s bicep- If the taller boy noticed, he didn’t mention it. “Any way… That day, I was on my way back to my room… Who knows what I could have done when I got there. But Greg, he stopped with me with the mention of your name.” He couldn’t look Sherlock in the eye anymore, he just _couldn’t_. “You stopped me from doing something stupid, and I’m here repaying you by leaving, to possibly die.”

There was no answer that Sherlock could provide the older boy with- He just hoped that John would get himself out of this mind set before he left for war.

“I’m sorry that I’ve treated you like shit recently, Sherlock. I should have made some sort of contact with you, but I couldn’t and I don’t know why- And for that I am deeply sorry. There have been times in life when I’ve asked ‘ _why me_ ’? But now I know, I’d rather use that emotion to fight for an honorable cause. Well, that’s what I thought when I signed up anyway…”

Sherlock’s eyes had filled with tears; he wasn’t used to this kind of emotional outburst from John, or anyone, in fact…

“When I met you, and you read everything about me from one look, I was hooked on you. You’re extraordinary, Sherlock, and you should never let anyone tell you otherwise.” John looked up at the taller boy, his face stony except for the small smile playing at his lips. His eyes, however, gave so much away to Sherlock. The raw emotion in them opening every door inside his Mind Palace with a quick flick of Mind John’s wrist. There was no stopping him.

“I love you, Sherlock.” Both John and Dream John spoke at the same time.

“I love you too, John.”

With steady breaths, and hard beating hearts, the two boys’ eyes met. With tension growing quickly, their resolve broke. John twisted his fingers into Sherlock’s hair roughly, still hoping that he didn’t hurt Sherlock in the process, and yanked his head down to meet their lips in a hasty kiss.

Sherlock’s hands grip John’s arms, fingers grasping and pulling John closer to him. John’s so close he can smell the salt of his tears, the sweat of his earlier fear; that natural woody John smell. The sensation of John being so near made Sherlock want to combust- To be part of John forever.

There were hands on his hips, in his hair, gripping his neck. John seemed to be everywhere, swallowing him whole. And Sherlock did not mind.

Placing his hand on John’s cheeks, he pulled their lips away from each other- When John tried to go back in, he placed his hand again the base of his neck and shook his head slightly. “J-Just wait a second.” He whispered resting his forehead against John’s. They stared at each other, lips brushing in a very intimate way. Not quite touching fully, but their presence there all the same. Their breath mingled, and their hands roamed, neither of them wanting it to end.

And it didn’t.

They’d never got this far before, but it all went in a blur.

One moment they were breathing each other’s air, the next Sherlock lay beneath John, his body crowded on the small sofa. John gripped Sherlock’s hips tight for a second, before moving his hand down Sherlock’s impossibly long leg, and hitching it around his own waist. He repeated the action on the other leg, his free hand gripping Sherlock’s curls tightly between his fingers. All the while, their lips never left each other’s; never getting enough of the other’s taste.

John knows that Sherlock has never had sex with anyone else before, he may not have even given himself pleasure. So he takes a risk, acts on a whim and cants his hips forward slightly to meet Sherlock’s. The moan he is rewarded with takes him slightly by surprise- He’s never heard something so erotic in his life.

In one fluid movement, John stands himself up from the sofa, his hand gripping Sherlock’s backside and legs tightly so that he doesn’t drop him. Sherlock hooks his legs on John’s back, and his hand grip his shoulders wearily. He knows that he’s quite light despite his size, but he doesn’t want John to drop him before they can get started.

John puts Sherlock down at the bottom of the stairs, his hands immediately moving to the brunette’s hips. His hands are itching to touch Sherlock further, but he doesn’t want to scare Sherlock away too soon. But Sherlock is close to desperate- He grabs John by the collar and crushed their lips together. As soon as John opens his mouth, Sherlock’s tongue enters and tastes for itself exactly what John is.

John feels as though he is on fire, every cell burning with desire and heat. _There is nothing more I have wanted in life than this_ he thinks. Then Sherlock starts to move backwards, his eyes no longer the piercing grey they usually were. The entirety of his desire was shown in one look, his pupils blown to completely remove the colour from Sherlock’s eyes. Slowly backing himself up against the wall, Sherlock took his bottom lips between his teeth and whimpered slightly.

“John… Please…”

John attacked.

His mouth attached itself to Sherlock’s neck, sucking harshly and deeply. His left hand grabbed both of Sherlock’s wrists and held them together above his head on the wall. With his right hand, he explored. Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock’s arse. On many occasions, Sherlock had caught John staring at him when he was bent over picking something up, or stretching in pe. It had amused the genius greatly.

Now though, now John was able to touch it. To feel the weight of it in his hands.

Sherlock, however, wanted more. He pulled himself free from John’s hold, and pushed them both away from the wall. His eyes managed to become even darker as he stared John down, his lips pressed into a tight line. As John swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed- He looked up into the eyes of his lover, and bit his lip slightly. From somewhere deep in his throat, Sherlock growled and grabbed John’s hand. He dragged the older boy upstairs behind him, not once pausing to allow John to catch up.

Once inside John’s bedroom, Sherlock slammed the door loudly and pushed John against it. The same position from the beginning of their relationship being shadowed. Except this time, Sherlock was ready.

Walking away from the door slowly, and towards the bed, Sherlock started to undo the buttons on his shirt. One-by-one, the screaming buttons came undone before John’s eyes. His mouth had been hanging open, and his eyes had been wide. But now he stood in front of Sherlock and placed his hands upon his boyfriend’s shoulders, gripping the soft material he found there between his fingers. Slowly, he slid the material down Sherlock’s arms and onto the floor.

His hand moved to touch the smooth chest in front of him, but he stopped briefly and looked up at Sherlock, “Is this okay?” he asked softly. He received a curt nod in reply, his hand moving against Sherlock’s ribs. John moved his mouth to the collar bone in front of him, placing delicate butterfly kisses against it as he moved down. When he reached Sherlock’s right nipple, he placed a tiny kiss there before replacing it with his tongue.

Sherlock sucked in a quick breath, his hand moving to wind itself in John’s hair. When John started to suck and bite at the nipple, Sherlock’s teeth started to bite into his bottom lip. _Hard_. John’s mouth reattached to his own, the bitter taste of copper flooding both of their senses now.

John pulled back, his thumb moving up to swipe the blood off of Sherlock’s lip. “Careful, love,” he said, wiping his thumb on his trousers, “can I take these off?” He asked, his hands pulling at the button on Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock’s eyes moved down to look at the hand there. They were so very close to a place no one had been before, yet Sherlock didn’t mind.

“C-can I take your shirt off first?” Sherlock asked shakily, his hands moving to grip John’s wrists tightly. It wasn’t that he felt scared about John touching him there; he wanted them both to be equally naked. John nodded slightly, so he got to work. His fingers were shaky and he could barely get hold of the buttons. After struggling with the first button for a while, John took Sherlock’s hands in his own, and placed a chaste kiss to each of his fingers.

“I’ll do it if you want? You can take your trousers off.” John brushed his lips up against the taller boy’s own, and gave him a small reassuring smile. “It may help you calm down, Sherlock.” He stepped back slightly, his hands moving to his own buttons- He started slowly, but when Sherlock undid his trousers and let them drop to the floor, his hands sped up. Throwing his shirt on the floor, he undid his own trousers with haste, stepping out of them quickly.

When he looked at Sherlock, the genius’ eyes were wide in appreciation, and his hands were reaching out to him slightly. “What is it, Sherlock?”

“I-I want to touch you…” The brunette admitted quietly, his hands shaking in apprehension against his sides. “C-can I-I?” John smiled slightly at the comparison of Sherlock now compared to earlier. The heat was clearly still there, but now caution took over Sherlock’s actions.

John held out his hand, and moved towards the bed. He sat down on it lightly, pulling Sherlock down into his lap to straddle him. He lightly took Sherlock’s hand in his own once more, and directed it towards his neck. Once there, Sherlock started to explore John’s body, his hands tracing the muscles he found, and his mouth kissing any sensitive parts of John he discovered. With one final kiss to John’s nose, Sherlock pushed the blonde onto the bed. He stood by the bed and started to move his underwear down his legs. All John could do was stare.

Sherlock’s arms came to rest around his stomach, as though he was trying to protect himself from John’s intense gaze.

“Y-you’re gorgeous.” The smaller man said, slightly breathlessly. He couldn’t believe his luck with Sherlock- His mind was amazing and his body was stunning. “What have I done to deserve you?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Sherlock’s voice was quite, he really was nervous now. He could feel his heart thrumming against his chest, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or arousal.

“Come here, love.” John smiled at his boyfriend warmly. He wanted Sherlock to be comfortable with this, not just doing it because he thought it was the right thing. When Sherlock took his hand, he tried to comfort him, “You don’t need to hide from me. You’re beautiful.” He placed a small kiss against Sherlock’s stomach and laid him down on the bed. Removing his own underwear, John kissed Sherlock softly, trying to get him to open up to him.

Sherlock broke away suddenly, “I-I don’t know what I’m doing, John.”

“Well, I’m here to help you, love. Just follow my lead.” John moved Sherlock’s hands onto his hips as he knelt above him on the bed. He moved one leg in between Sherlock’s own and lowered himself slightly. Sherlock was feeling very light-headed- Despite his nerves, he had never been so turned on in his life. He couldn’t help but raising his hips against John, the friction making him moan.

John’s hand travels down the expanse of Sherlock’s body, feeling every bump and dip. When he gets below the hip, he feels thick skin, the tickle that the hair brings, and then the heat of Sherlock just below that. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes, “Ready?” Sherlock gave a tiny nod, John reaching down and taking Sherlock within his hand. He uses feather light touches at first, just exploring. Trying not to startle, to over-stimulate. Sherlock still enjoys it though, if the tiny moans he released every time John got near the head where anything to go by.

Finally, John wrapped his hand around Sherlock fully, the brunette moaning loudly at the contact. “Feels good?” Sherlock could only whine in response. He starts to move his hand slowly, Sherlock’s hand gripping John’s bicep tighter with every movement. When he started to experiment, John found that if he twisted his hand at the head, then Sherlock would release the most delicious pronunciation of ‘John’ that he had ever heard.

John’s other hand is near Sherlock’s head, so he turns his face in to bite at the older boy’s wrist, groaning into it slightly. He’s never experienced so much sensation at the same time… Not even from the drugs.

“Please, John…” he licks at the freshly bitten skin, and hums slightly. John let out a breath at the sight; he’s perfect. He lowered himself slightly, slotting their cocks together against Sherlock’s hips. Both boys moan loudly at the contact, perhaps too loudly. But they don’t care. No one can hear them.

John takes them both in hand and starts to move his hips. Sherlock can barely move as John shifts above him, so he rocks his hips up to John’s hand trying to help in some way.

“I don’t-“

“I know, Sherlock. I, _God_ , I know.” John moves to kiss Sherlock again, but the brunette moans and moves his head to the side at the last moment. John attacks his neck instead. At first it’s just the small press of lips, but soon it turns to nips and licks. “You taste amazing, did you know?” he asks cheekily, breathing in deeply against the pale neck.

“I-I haven’t currently, ugh, got to that experiment yet-“

“And why not?”

“Y-You got in the way.”

“Hey. Don’t blame m—“

“It’s your fault.” Sherlock nips on John’s ear lightly, before biting the lobe harshly. “Hmm…” he moaned slightly, his lips finding its way between his teeth. John’s hips slammed against Sherlock, sending him flying up the bed, his head hitting the headboard. “Ouch.”

“Sorry.” John apologised by kissing Sherlock passionately. Their tongues chased each other round both mouths, before they had to break apart to get their breath. “Wha-What do you want to do?”

“We could, if you wanted to… We could, um-“

“Are you sure?” John didn’t want to hurt Sherlock, and sometimes _that_ hurt. Sherlock nodded and pulled John’s bedside drawer open. “I don’t want to know how you knew that was there… Top or bottom?”

“Bottom.”

With one final kiss to Sherlock’s chin, John moved himself down the taller boy’s body. It seemed to go on forever. When he got to Sherlock’s cock, he placed a small kiss on the head, and put Sherlock’s legs over his shoulders. With the lube that Sherlock provided, John presses his index finger against Sherlock’s hole.

“John-“

The finger went in to the knuckle very slowly, just so Sherlock got used to it. When it had been settled in for a few moments, John started to move it in and out.

At first all Sherlock could feel was the burn of the stretch. He couldn’t stop his hips from moving down to meet John’s finger though. His hands clenched into the sheets, and his lip started to bleed again from its place inside Sherlock’s mouth. “A-another.” John quickly complied, his middle finger joining the index in Sherlock’s tight hole. When he’s sure that Sherlock’s comfortable, he could tell by the shift of his hips and the moans, he started to scissor his fingers inside of Sherlock.

“Still okay?” he checked quickly, but Sherlock couldn’t form a word now, let alone a coherent sentence. He was far too gone. His moans and whimpers spurred John on, moving his fingers slightly faster before he added another finger. At this, Sherlock practically squealed at the pleasure that it gave him. One hand moved to his hair, the other with its hold still in the duvet. When John found the bundle of nerves hidden deep inside, Sherlock’s hips canted so high that he nearly hit John on the way down.

“J-John-“

“Yes, love?”

“I’m ready.”

John gasped slightly, but removed his fingers from Sherlock. The taller boy grabbed hold of him immediately and pulled him up so that he could kiss him. “Mmm.” John hummed in appreciation, moving to line himself up with Sherlock.

He tried to move in slowly, he really did, but Sherlock didn’t seem to want slowly. He grabbed John’s hips and pulled him in to the hilt, moaning in both pain and pleasure as he did so. John smoothed Sherlock’s curls out of his eyes, and kissed the open lips in front of him. “C-can I move? I, Sher-, I really need-“

“Move.”

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s hips, pulling him even further- John started to move. His strokes were slow and smooth, however it wasn’t enough for the brunette.

“Faster.”

John complied, his hips slapping against Sherlock’s with every movement. Sweat glistened on both of their chests and foreheads. Their hands gripped at each other, finally finding the other and linking together. Their linked hands made their way to each side of Sherlock’s head. The genius was moaning loudly now, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes shut tightly. John’s grunts joined Sherlock’s whines every time John hit Sherlock’s prostate dead-on. There was no sound more beautiful than what was about to come though.

“J-John. I’m c-close-“

“Me too, Sherlock. M-ugh. Me too.” John unhooked his left hand from Sherlock’s and reached down between them. Taking Sherlock’s cock in hand, he quickly moved it up and down; Sherlock almost screaming in pleasure.

“Please, don’t stop!” Sherlock pleads with John, as though he thinks John will actually do that. But John just shakes his head and starts to move harder. Faster. There is a distinctive smell of sex in the air around them now. They don’t notice; too wrapped up in each other to notice. To care.

“Can I come in you? Please, I need—I need to.”

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered, his eyes closed and his face a complete picture of bliss, “please do.” And John does.

He comes harder than he has ever done in his life, a scream ripping from his throat. Before letting himself collapse, he starts to stroke Sherlock faster, until he too is coming. He feels a hot liquid splash over his hand, and knows that Sherlock has just had his, possibly first, orgasm. Then John lets himself fall onto the boy below.

The room is silent except for their pants. Sherlock thinks he might have died and gone to heaven in that single moment.

When Sherlock starts to chuckle slightly, John looks up at him with a furrowed brow, “What?”

“I told you we should have sex.”

Turns out, inappropriate giggles were contagious, because soon enough John was joining in too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry.  
> I promised to update this in June and didn't. I had a lot on. I had exams, friendship problems, family issues. And before I knew it, it was September again- I'm in my final year now, so it's very important. Just thought I'd update you with this chapter. I hope you enjoyed.


	18. PLEASE READ

Hi everyone,

So I am currently re-writing this fanfiction as I started it over two years ago, and thought that it needed to be updated. I'm much better at writing than I was when I wrote this, and I cringe every time I read this to try and give me some inspiration. I don't really like the story line either, as I had no real direction. 

Therefore, please read the re-write that I have started here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6978433/chapters/15904297

I would appreciate it greatly if you did give it a read because I feel it's much better than this one.

Thank you very much.

Much love, 

Chloe xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Please comment with any changes you can suggest. Criticism is welcome! :)


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